Uprooted

Marina Shemesh

Uprooted 

He had a plan the little one

into his pack he stuffed a root

prised from the tumbled tree

they had cut – men in boots

shouts of “timber” laughter

in their voices as he shivering

at his bedroom window heard

Heaven growl – no sense asking

“why?” from the Tall Ones they’d

only turn a tepid patronizing smile

He watched the tree fall, the booted

thugs get into their truck and leave

in the early morning light and in bare

cold feet in hot heart-burst he raced

somehow silently through kitchen door

and tenderly untangled a single

tendriled root

He had a plan

to travel far to

a place of sun

and gentle rain

and on a hill he

would plant his

tree and wait for

green shoots to

spring in rows

of mending as

he healed and
grew to grown