time/roots

~Written May 2021, Edited/Updated Feb. 2024~

I felt a connection to Bogg boots 

To mud, squishing between my fingers

Caked under fingernails 

Black against small, pale hands. 

I was drawn to kicking my shoes off

Belting rhymes and rhythms,

Listening to my name echo, between the hills of my home. 

I could feel it--

My identity as it were, bouncing around me.

Ever reflected, back, inwards. 

I felt a connection to fire, too. 

Bog boots exchanged with heels in which to walk across a stage 

Hands clean, 

so as not to sully the paper exigence of those first 18 years 

White, against new, long, tan fingers 

Time to reflect outward, I thought 

Time to belt not rhymes, but opinions, ideologies

Kick off the shackles of an older world. 

I feel water now.

My soul not so tethered as it once was.

Floating between continents, countries

Opinions, ideologies 

Homelands. Hills. 

Questioning.

My toes, however, still recognize the mud. 

Ancient. Primal. Cyclical. 

They yearn for it. 

Step into the river

They tell me as I run. 

Push those roots deep 

We want to feel it 

That squelching, black, earth.