roots

poem

My shoulders have never been so brown,

Dearest,

As I sit in a field of clover;

An advocate for paradise, 

Eating Cactus fruit at a road stop.

To know nothing of a place,

To rise from the earth like a weed,

We all want a utopia,

We want Atlantis to rise from the great seas.

Rustles of an invisible breeze 

At home i know each plant and their sound, 

Their growing sounds,

Standing woody and stubborn

Colossal eucalypts, 

Knotty olives,

Sweetgrass oceans with waves that ripple in the wind,

Roots that stay put, 

Whereas here I am on the wrong side of the world

And mine own come free with barely a tug.