Mississippi
Coldness curls
The small of my back
When you’re angry with me.
Unease takes up position at my bedside
Ready to rob me of sleep.
But still I dream.
See me
A young tree, a sapling even
On the banks of the frozen Mississippi
My roots gnarled and arthritic
As I attempt to insinuate them
Into the icy ground.
A singer woman walks by me
The warmth of her voice contradicting
The sadness of her words.
My branches bend toward her
As the wind carries my protest.
How can it be that there ain’t no way?
The wind thrashes my bent body
Tearing my branches off
Only to beat them on the ground
The sound a heartbeat
That accompanies the woman’s cong
As I mourn my loss of wholeness.
Oh, how can the roots take ground
When the trunk is hurting?
Oh, how can it be that the river, the water
of life
Can be against me, too
As it thaws and overflows the banks
Snatching up my branches
And the singer woman.
And they come to collect my tears
Calling them sap as they bear them away
In their cotton field boots
Leaving me behind forlorn and cold.
And I remain there
While the winter and the wind passes
The movement of my roots suspended
And the woman thrashes in her sleep
While she dreams me
Her body turning, seeking the sun
That doesn’t exist in this season
Her movement counteracting the frost
Her movement sunshine itself
Which encourages my roots
To penetrate deeper
Because somewhere in the layers
Of the dream where I represent her
Is the living, healing memory of warmth.
