Propel me.
I am stopped
and stagnant,
dying like a tree
in the desert.
Move me.
Give me a reason
to uproot myself.
I have had
the strange dreams
of a lone transient.
I have heard the wind
and it still whispers stories
of Gypsy caravans,
and the Oregon Trail.
I have been told
of rolling, painted lands,
populated by tribes
of nomadic warriors
and roaming horsemen
that conquered the frozen steppe.
A warm Spring breeze
comes in,
melting the snow
and nurturing my roots.
Were that they were wings,
then I could go
to the places that I have seen,
and touched,
and smelled
in my mind’s eye.
The wind laughs,
and the Sun smiles,
and off they go
along on their adventures.
Even the stars,
pinned in the night sky
have more freedom
and mobility.
How do I uproot myself?
Dig deep,
and pull miles upon miles
of my past
up from the earth
and drag it along with me,
like some royal robes?
Or do I just break
at the trunk
and grow legs,
walking away
from who I am
and what I’ve known?
All I know
is that this desert is killing me.
A strong wind kicks up
and a wall of dust,
half a mile high
gathers on the horizon.
I think I can hear music,
and smell the ocean.
A giant gust buffets me
and threatens to take
my few leaves,
but they hang on.
I am not yet lost,
but as the wind grows
to a sustained gale,
I know the time has come,
and my decision made,
as I hear my trunk crack.
HG – 2022
