Root Gathering

Fallen twigs from last season

Pile beside the fire pit

Leaves crumble under my

 

Winter boots

I spy the old chair I won at an antique mall

Among the quiet rubble

 

It whispers accusations

As if I have caused this disrepair

The thickening of arteries

 

In its wooden legs

Splayed beyond reassembly

Laying in the grass, I squint

 

Between branches

Bright with nimble buds

Imagine a magnifying

 

Glass that looks up, expanding

The wheelbarrow has tumbled to its side

Full of last year’s clippings, worn to a

 

Hollow, weeping sludge

Drowned, dried assemblage

A parchment of past autumn

 

I am ready to pitch and burn

My offering to

Spring

 

© 2017 Kristina Moulaison

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