Or Maybe It Will Be Fine And I Will Be Embarrassed For Having Been So Fretful

Roots descend from my
Greenery
Splitting into dreadful katakana
Little white
Hairs pushing deeper
Into dank memories of mouse bones
And worms
And beads of loam

Up grows the shoot and
Into people's view
Sprout joyful unfurling dewy
Planes of green
Verdant stars or palms
But what you
Don't
See what you never see
Is the latticework
Beneath me

You will not
Hear the grunting of
Spindly fingers as
They hold and hold
So when the
Weather arrives I
Don't wash
Away like
Promises in the sand

My open
Hand to sky
Is only
Possible because I
Grew where I was planted
And shoved
My toes in
Daring to make a home
And letting the dirt seep
Up into me

And now I am expected to
Unearth
The roots that feed me
Divorce them from
The muddy
Barons of backwards
Politics and
Trade in sweet
Tea for Gila monsters
And alabaster flats

How will I
Grow in this
Arid place?
How can
I believe in the feathers
And miles of cloud patterns
With bald sand
Beneath my feet?

When I know I cannot
Stay
And the winds whip up
Salt all around
Me how will I keep
From blowing away
With them?
Will I be thrown into
The Pacific?

And whether or drowning or
Waving you won't be
Able to tell
Until
You see those spindly
White roots
Wrong side down
Pointed towards the
Baking sun
And sinking slowly
Into the sea foam