Trees

The trees weren't always too big for the streets, in fact you and me,
we were born through the cracks in the pavement the day their roots broke through like escaped convicts with spoon shovels, jumping and hooting back across the sidewalks at their front-yard prisons.

When the roots broke free, we were born bicycling barefoot, bearing the brands of pedals and gravel on the soles of our feet, proud of blisters and blood.

We were knit together with blackberry brambles and red seaweed,
with our mothers' fears and our fathers' gods.
There was a lot to be unknotted.
So instead we grew around and between, swallowed chain link like wisteria, have you ever seen a tree growing into a fence?
It's impressive. So are we.

Over time our truths came loose and fell out like baby teeth, and we kept them for a while because it felt like we should, because they were parts of us once.
But we have watched the ocean claim our unattended concepts of reality
with initial incredulity and inevitable resignation.

The fact is
the trees weren't always too big for the streets, and you and me,
we weren't always too big for the trees.

Reviews

[Another Relic]

You are a very interesting writer with lines that are unique. Punctuation would be helpful and perhaps a tighter formatting. I'm not sure the line- But we have watched the ocean claim our unattended concepts of reality with initial incredulity and inevitable resignation.

This poem has a lot of what I call spices to it which is a good thing. Nice writing.