Roots

Run along the gentle slope,
And meet me by the tire swing.
Smell of dry grasses rides the air,
Opium clouds sleeping feverishly above,
Hot rainwater sloshes gently,
In the belly of the tire.

This solitary tree,
Filled with broken crayons and things,
From when we were little kids.
We scratched it with sticks and
Traced dirt roads along its roots
With our fingers.

This lonely old thing,
It got struck by lightening,
One night when I was
Six years old. I cried.

But it still stood.
One great branch peeled clean, barkless,
Shining white in the morning sun,
And falling away as summer faded to fall.

I wonder if it knows,
That our roving and mowing,
Chew up it’s children.
I wonder if it knows,
That it’s alien company,
Is the reason its alone.

Let’s plant it’s child
In our own yard
You suggest.
I smile and pick up a seed.
We turn to leave.

I look back at my old friend
“I’d like that.”
I swear
I could hear it say.

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Marya pitaz
Member

wow! this a nice one and words carefully chosen and used i love it

wpDiscuz

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