Garage
The garage my dad built in the 1950’s
has been torn down but they could not
dig out the roots that clung to the water table.
The tree rings told a tale
almost as if the trees had been Chicano,
picked cotton, got refused service in restaurants.
Leaves even the trees had forgotten about
blew back with the wind
which had apparently circled the globe.
Generations of branch after branch
have made an impassable place in the mind
and so I stop here.
posted by RC @ 3:32 PM
2 Comments:
This picture and poem hit home. I love the line:
"almost as if the trees had been Chicano"
and in the poem above the last line resonates: "as the sky burns in my fireplace"
Thanks,
E.
Thanks for your kind visits,Emmy.
The line "as the sky burns in my
fireplace" did not have the little bird in an earlier version.
I guess he's asking "why are burning my home,my sky!"
Post a Comment
<< Home