roots

I’ve been long searching for a steady patch of earth
separate from the eternal quaking,
the rumbling,
The movement beneath my feet
to put down roots.
To find and make a home,
Where the view spins in my wake and makes my leaves rumble
and branches bow in recognition of the real.
I thought for a time, to settle on another plane,
But planes are tricky business,
wrapped up in the solid of another’s tastes
and maybe they’ll decide my fruit no longer
suits the palet.

So I made a mound for myself, and dropped anchor
my roots sliding into the warm, dark earth
on the top of this hillside,
watching the runoff of accumulated trash
melt from my trunk, stirring my leaves
with the new windy freedom.

And what I want from you is simple.
Don’t bake me with your sunlight.
Don’t attempt to shake my steadfast footprints
or uproot me from another home.

Water me.

I’m strong enough to withstand a tidal wave,
Or sprinkles.
Your choice.