Roots - Jennifer R.

The tree needed roots, but they trembled in the face of the storm.

No one expected the storm, least of all me.

But it came, and I stand in the eye.

Eyes of the bystanders could have turned. It would have been easier.

Who runs to catch a falling tree?

Cut it down. Start again.


Eyes and hands. They opened.

My roots are fragile, and they are not my own.

I have borrowed the strength to stand, but I graft, slowly.

When I sway, it is not only me who feels the cruel hands of the wind, for I am no longer alone.


They have come to share the shaking with me. I feel the burden of their strength, their firm roots.

But it is a burden I am proud to carry, for one day, I will grow roots of my own, stronger than before, and then, then I will have the strength to share with you.


By Jennifer Roe

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