Rose Lennard
Rooted
Never thought I’d stay here long. A trail of addresses and contacts to match stretch behind me like pebbles through a wood.
Now here I stand in my clearing, and I am learning the wisdom of mycelium, I am working my roots into the web around me the way a notched needle felts fleece, stitching again and again, tiny meshing moves, crafting something durable, that sheds rain, keeps out cold, delights with Joseph-coated colour.
birch trees bend
before autumn gales—
gilded boulders
I pass a café, friends wave me in, I prune tomato shoots in my neighbour’s greenhouse, people leave barrows of windfall apples by the pavement: “Please Take.”
I think of moving, see a toppled tree, the ripped root plate, its net of growth that holds together soil and stones, the gash beneath it raw; rain washing muddy channels down the slope.
About the Author
Rose Lennard reckons few things feel as good as writing poetry. She writes with a sense of curiosity, seeking that place where the magic of words meets the truth of experience. Her poems have been published in Rattle, Stand, Prole, Atrium, Ink Sweat & Tears, Quartet, and others.