We carry our dirt,
having dug it from the graves
of yester-years,

This dirt
that dirties our palms,
darkens our fingernails
and smears our faces
when we wipe our brow
of the sweat from its burden,

We carry this dirt
in our backpacks,
in our purses,
in our hand luggage
and in our pockets,

But then we ask
why we resemble a type of homelessness,
in our solitary trudge.