I thank the weeds
and the runners.
I thank the creeping vines
that pulled me under.
I thank the roots
that plunged into
my stomach
and held me fast
against the earth
where I could cause
no trouble.
But, one-by-one,
I broke the bindings.
I winced against
the pinch of the taut
root-windings.
When I stood,
free and rising,
I felt my feet lift,
weightless, flying,
a feather of the sky
soaring upward –
never diving.
But, my blood ran cold.
A scream from a sigh,
as I realized my plight.
I am the earthborn
and I am not of the sky.
In all my struggles,
I had forgotten
my fear of heights
and the small detail
that to breathe
is to survive.
I miss my roots
and I my vines.
They would crush me,
but I’d always survived,
because they left enough air
to allow my sighs.
©️ Obol, 2019.