hometree pt. 3

I come from this house 

I grew from these floorboards 

These walls made me—by kiln, they fired me 

to every shape I was, every form I’ve taken and will take, and take that how you will. 

Nothing left to do but sit at your base where the roots hold steel solid and stare up at the nakedness of the open river valley sky. 

I bury all who I was here beneath your impenetrable skin and purple branches— 

all the good and the worried and the bad— 

in hopes that she is preserved for longer than my mind can hold onto.