Roots
Dominick Lombano

I heard her cry out, Oh-
I heard her cry
but still
in the soft rustling of leaves
and under woolen shag carpets
she bumped and scraped like
a night wind
 
Hold fast hold fast hold me hold
fast
and again like old bruises
I got living in that summer house
She stayed sore
 
Hold she said Hold
and I held
and like a firm branch
I stood in one spot and grew: roots