Ancestry

**alternative version published in issue 3 of Stone Fruit Literary Magazine**

I walk a thin and unkept road of rocks,
of dirt & roots, of things forgotten—lost

& found. Those afternoons spent unconcerned
beneath a patchwork quilt of leaves & sky
& warm late light. My chants would float like smoke:

she loves me not, she loves me. Now I find

these reaching boughs have grown—some
gone—but still, they see me as I was. My able

hands reach up to meet the branch that’s held so low
to pull me up, to make me seen. As flesh
meets gnarled wood, I feel like I belong. My sapling

legs grow round my kindred’s trunk; find strength

within the deep, unmoving form, find heart
in whispered words. The leaves, they sigh,

say, you are known. Say, on our own we aren’t
as strong, but interlock our roots and you
will find more strength than you know how to spend.

My grown but too-soft feet find knots along

the sturdy frame, bring body back to earth–
its limbs entangled deep within my own.