Family Tree
I’ve witnessed addiction yank at the roots of a family tree.
I’ve listened to slurred words that stung
and blared violently enough to roam as a wildfire
nesting inside weak hollow trees,
blazing from the inside out
until ash is simply a remnant of its destruction.
until that ash is resorted to an urn
in my grandmother’s bedroom.
The residue of failure left in the tainted territories
will inspire growth.
New trees will claw into the soil,
holding hostage the birth of unwilling life
that will replace all that was anicent.
Hopeful downpours will part from clouds
and nourish these oaks until their branches
are tall enough to stroke its feeding hands up high.
But one day, conflicting bolts,
both loving and scornful,
well-meaning and selfish,
will impose upon the grounds with spiteful strikes.
Trails of heat will glare at history
for its repetition
as the flames crackle to the rhythm of addiction
and await a new cycle of devastation.
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