Roots
I want to be a sidewalk
cracked and raised
over an ancient tree
with roots too stubborn
to relent to
cement.
I want to make space.
I want to know my place.
I want to have that much
give.
Or maybe I want to be
the tree. Either way,
I stand out.
Either way, I am
tripped over
by someone foolish
enough to misjudge
my depth.
Either way, someone
will call me
inconvenient; curse
me for being
in their way;
and I will
remain
unchanged.