to have roots
and reach down
down down
into gritty earth
moist clay soliloquies
and whispers spoken
to secret places
to branches you’ve never
seen
dipping its leaves in rippling water
magnetic in its
cyclic purity
of pond to root to leaf back to pond

would that i were a tree
so that i could have known that love.

i must have been born twice
upside down and back to front
from the maternal matrix
and the cold institutional plastic
of a pill bottle
the afterbirth of steel
sliding across my skins
in fits and starts
contractions trying to push out
the festering sore
the infected bile that stench
close up the hole
that vile creature that slithered out
keep back its faceless compatriots
like unopened boxes of razors
calling from beyond
a heartbeat dutifully pattering on
the coagulated blood
icy
congregates in my veins and
screams incessantly for relief
for freedom
i must have been born a million times
each time the blade pierces my skin
another mute wordless infant
comes forth
unsure how to cry.

there was once a brick hearth
and my skinned kneed,
wild flaxen haired,
innocent self would sit there
to feel the fire’s warmth radiating through the stones.

there were ghost stories told
on picnic tables at state parks where
the calloused barefeet of my childhood
struck the dusty ground as i ran towards
not away
when i followed vitreous streams
with frigid soaked clothes clinging to my skin
all the way to the  river who now holds these memories
for me.

there was a sprawling old mimosa tree
whose diaphanous flowers would float
feathery petals
to decay on the ground.
How that tree must be a part of me somehow
from the scrapes my soft infantile skin
endured while trying to clamber up its branches
not for a moment tainting my insatiable appetite to explore.

there were steaming hot afternoon thunderstorms
a quotidian race home from the bowels
of the verdant green forest
dodging heavy raindrops
pregnant with the weight of coming years.

those years were the smell of fresh lighter wood
the acrid feel of smoke in the back of my throat
popsicles in the pool
and warm sun-kissed skin.

those times were blanket forts at sleep overs
the salt on sunflower seed shells
cracked in the dugout at softball games
they were the lilted drawl that curled comfortably
around eternal southern colloquialisms.
bike rides to get skittles and coke
at the gas station at the end of the street.
the wind in my hair as I careened down
what will always be known as
Thrill Hill

at some point my bike rusted
when was that?
the pool sat alone and unused
and evergreen forests became a passing image
in a dream
scraped knees turned to razor slices.
but my body will always carry the recollection.

my body is an
electron multiplying charge coupled device
and the burning photons
browning my skin
tinting my hair to an effortlessly highlighted hue
are absorbed
shooting out electrons
from the arching potential
running just under the surface
like my skin is some insulator
to protect other’s touch
so my electricity doesn’t
stop a beating heart
has my heart somehow turned into a generator?
pumping out electrons like
some sort of continuously accelerating
perpetual motion machine
i tremble
the noise from the signal emitted
static snaps in my hair
and imaginary wildfires dance forth
ripping and roaring in my head
the tinder of my thoughts
feeding their starved pallattes
and they need more and more
as the flames call to me and weep
the goddess of electrons
with voltage running through every vein
and amperes arching through arteries with the energy of my heart
the exception to the notion handed down by Newton
energy and matter are neither created nor destroyed