Lisa Brockwell #28 Roots

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.