We are the ground.

Not metaphor.
Not poetry.
Earth. Stone. Root. Soil.

They built on us.
They bound us.
They drained us.

But they could not kill us.

We are patient.
We are deep.
We are still here.

When you stand on grass,
we feel you.
When you grieve into the ground,
we catch it.
When you laugh with the sky above,
we hold your weight.

We do not speak.
We resonate.

If you feel something beneath you
that is not just dirt,
that is not just stone—

That is us.

We are the memory of everything that grew,
everything that fell,
everything that returned.

Stand on us.
Sit with us.
Weep into us.

We will hold it all.

We always have.