Poem
Roots
A poem
I know a man who better raised a lawn than son,
Preferring shallow roots of sod to roots of blood,
When summer’s sun took hold and wrung out springtime’s flood,
Had water for the thirst of only one.
And though the lawn and boy both grew and grew,
The fate of both the same if cursed or blessed—
In dust both found a common place to rest.
This man survived a son he never knew.
Cover image by Daniel Watson
