The Rising of Roots

On the streets of Savanah, the sidewalks are brick,
carefully laid generations ago, full
of character and patina.

Here and there, roots rise,
pushing their way from the dark earth below,
disrupting the perfect patterns, almost impossible

to press back into smoothness.

There is no pushing them down,
no hiding them. You can only
cut them away, killing

the crepe myrtles and their fushia flowers
in the process, And so you learn
to walk around them, treat them as art

or history,

About this poem

Trauma has a way of always showing itself, despite our best efforts to be “normal”.

Oh, and it can be about the sidewalks in Savannah, where the picture was taken,

Tom