Air Roots by Peter Fernbach

Back home, in Zoar valley
We used to look at air roots in wonder.
Naked and stripped of the earth
They grow a shaggy, thin bark
Unsure whether they should accept
Their banishment or crawl back in;
Unsure whether they would serve the greater good
By opening up to the elements
Or by growing a resistant skin
In the interest of self-preservation.

The exiled entanglements, so lonely and confused
Reminded us of what we had: hardwood floors
A fireplace and walls that shared our memories.
We felt sympathy for the poor orphans
Spat out of the earth with no place to call home.

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