Roots

I walked on the outside of the sidewalk,

clung to the crevice where the smells of color alive

were separate

from the outstretched agenda

and profiler.  Still wet and littered with leaves,

it seemed the perfect place to examine my genealogy,

the underground reasons I’m still connected to this place.

The man who wore the stiff collar

tried to skirt me, and I folded my cringe

into newspaper boats and hats

to protect myself.  His smile made me forget,

just in time for the protesters

and the little brown squirrels to gather.

When I approached the clock tower

I grew into my age

I shook the droplets of inevitability from my shoulders;

and took the proof home with me.

I never should have left here.

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