Uprooted

memorializing one of nature's gifts

Uprooted      

Robbie Furtwangler

 

An iron beast with its head on the ground

dreams of biting into wet, warm dirt.

A water oak boasts a neon pink tape belt,

casting shade on a vast pine tree resting on its side.

A root system shrivels in a mass of

tan snakes and white thread,

tries to retreat from  

dry oxygen and stinging sun,

melting down the brim of the sandy hole

still wet with photosynthetic juices.

 

This new plastic-house complex is coming along.

New properties and homes in various stages of construct

are laden with cherry pickers, hotboxes, and dumpsters.

Pickup-trucks sprout lengths of lumber,

work vans cart pieces of PVC, and

pressure-treated pilings devour marsh front for

screened in porches right to the water line and

white concrete for sedans with personalized plates.

 

Green sappy needles sag like the sad branches of a weeping willow.

Seventy years to stand fifty feet tall,

through devastating drought,

through burrowing beetle barrages,

through Hurricane Hugo.

She has finally fallen

to the axe.

Author's Note

is the message to heavy handed?

Reviews

[RAOrourke]

I think your message comes across nicely and is definitely not heavy handed. I really enjoyed the pace and vivid descriptions!