Taproot

one day
panting with exhaustion
she dug up her own taproot
hauling it up inch by inch
until it snapped
lying it filthy and fat on the dinner table
it was washed
then sliced and diced
and served to an army of critical palates
some
complaining of bitterness
insisted on drowning it in sauce and dressing
but they gulped it down
dreaming that she might be a mighty oak
she had put all her energy in that one thick root
built her philosophy around what would nourish it
that was the way she was designed
now she was no more
not even a fragile stalk
wresting away a small piece she tried
with frantic hands
to force it into new ground
willing it to live
but it grew soft and mushy
just below the surface
yet in the manicured lawn
of her former existence
she had left something
and from there
began to sprout again
in this incarnation
a dandelion
praying for neglect

Fibrous
the ground was easy
she ran in all directions
fanning out
but never burrowing into the darkest depths
spreading herself over
so much ground that
parts of herself
didn't recognize other parts
a death in one area
meant a shift to another
cleverly branching and changing direction
such a web of roots
that no one could ever dream of bringing all
of them to light
but that didn't mean she didn't try
examining every finger
every hair
in the dusky and confused mat that
spread beneath her consciousness
as she touched them and brushed the soil away
they shriveled
one day the rains failed
dry hours piled upon dry hours
and the thin hairs which remained
went dead one by one
none finding the strength of the deep dark water
drying up and blowing away
grass unsupported by the soil
one portion of her
held on just long enough
to hear the thundercloud above
falling asleep
a faint smile on her lips
promises tomorrow

Adventitious
nothing if not theatrical
she cut herself apart
and cast herself upon the ground
we were both horrified and mesmerized
by the gratuitous carelessness
which left fragments of herself
haphazard pieces blackening
and rotting
in plain sight
where the soil held
too much moisture
but when we
out of mercy
tried to remove
those discarded bits
a tug revealed
that many of them had rooted
anywhere she touched responsive earth
!
!
she created new culture and system
!
supporting a fragile growth
!
!
that soon took hold
!
!
!
nursing itself to greenness
!
!

becoming her own seed

!
!
her specialty resurrection

Epiphyte
she grew from the deep swamps
!
where there was too much dark water
for the ground to contain
!
!
even the air bristled with damp tears
and plants unsuited drowned
she grew her roots in plain view
!
arching through the air
we could study them without disturbing them
!
although some thick fingers drew down
eventually burying themselves
!
in a fermenting cocktail of water and soil
!
!
!
triumphant in their hiding place
it didnt distress her
!
for us to trace the lines which
kept her alive!
!
!
which anchored her into her elevated place
as long as we refrained
!
!
from handling them
but the environment that would have killed us
!
!
was inherent to her survival
!
and we all awoke in horror
!
!
!
the day the swamp was drained
!
the only way we could keep her alive
was to pot her
!
and water her with our own tears
!
!
!
so that she would produce
!
!
her heavy and waxy flowers
!
!
!
!
so celebrated
but her heart always longs
!
!
!
for home