Poem: of Saws and Roots


of Saws and Roots

I was cut in two.
Made less.
And left.

But live things rarely die.
and the roots held fast
even as the rest bled pain.

The roots held fast
and in time there was new growth.
A different kind of tree,
more gnarly,
the stumps of the cutting visible,

but less so with each passing year.

And now, you flower.
Something new,
less beautiful,
more strong,
with roots that run deeper still
into the soil that nourished you
in those days of near death.

About this poem.

The other night the woman I love and I were talking about defining moments in our lives. I have come to see myself as having two.

First, a divorce that nearly destroyed me. And second, finding her, the woman I love. A few years into our relationship, and a year and a half into my marriage, it’s clear finding her has been the stronger defining moment. The love I live with each day is a deeper love than I ever imagined. A love I don’t have to live up to. A love full of real passion, for real reasons. No perfection needed. Just her. And I. And trust, And safety.

There was a lot in between, And none of it can be discounted. There’s been work. Failure. Surprises. Prayer. More work. It’s been quite the journey. But those are the moments.

I am that knarly tree battered by storms and wind. Ugly and beautiful at the same time, And grateful to the God of Second Chances.


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