Dwelling between the roots of things
the body rotted, devoid of clothing,
wrapped in a bright flannel shroud
jellied in folds, moistening the soil,
an energy exchange.
Waking beneath winter
baby’s breath grew like weeds
ripening summer in white ripples of rare sweetness
defended against an age of debauchery
that left only bones and threads of brilliant cotton
to feed the tiny white flowers
breathing toward eternity.
Brenda Warren 2014
Thank you to my poet friend Elizabeth for the inspiration to keep writing, and the words provided on Day 14. She wrote a poem that I spring boarded into this piece. You can find hers here: Down Beneath the Roots of Things.