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
