Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Lisa Brockwell #28 Roots


Like a mature tree, suddenly
dug up, pulled out of place
of anchor and home,
the roots shaken free of dirt
and loam, aquiver in the air,
unfamiliar element, the wind
too much for those delicate
tubers that want to suck
the dense dark and wet,
want to feel the pressure
of being held in the earth.

When I am about to travel
I feel my feet shiver in the air,
the weight of the house, paddocks,
family, animals fall away.
Like that mature tree,
whose nakedness is hurriedly
wrapped in black plastic,
I am loaded into the car
and I drive myself away.

* I am a little bit behind due to preparations for travel (see above!!)  But now I am actually on the road and footloose and fancy free I will catch up. 

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