Requiem

A Poem by Sadie Grace

a sestina

Sometimes when I run the earth feels hollow
and my fists tiny and railroad driven.
I could never see you with your roots
burling through a ground that seemed so cold
and made of ice and stone. No paths could
ever be forged here. Turn back.

Days like this my father worked his back
to bone and we inside the hollow
rooms of ice and stone, thought that we could
change our world if only we were driven
to hide our secrets and our hopes inside the cold,
in the cellar where the walls were made of roots.

He's a businessman, he has his roots
in deals, give a dollar, get a hundred back,
and be sure you're not the one left in the cold,
cold rooms of ice and stone and hollow.
He's a businessman and he was driven
to build for us a world if he could.

He built for us the world that he could.
He laid us strong foundations gave us roots,
and said that we could fly if we were driven.
and to never waste our days working backs
to bones while leaving spirits hollow.
He said this, and then left us in the cold.

Sometimes when I'm still the earth feels cold
and my fists so tiny, they never could
repair the things he built, and they grow hollow,
leaving ruins in the cellar made of roots.
These times I never pray to have him back
but I wish I could have been as driven.

I'll never drive the course that he has driven
you are the one that's left out in the cold
cold days like this. You're working back
to bone and reminded that you could
never want to see me with my roots
burling through a ground that seems so hollow.

He was so driven. I could
never know his cold cold roots
went that far back into the hollow.