Growing Down

Originally posted 5/11/2009.

No sir,
no.  I won’t
grow up — I’ll
grow down instead,

drawing from the earth
shadow nutrients, 
gritty water.
I will serve the Goddess of Dirt;

though I may present to you
a form that seems
symmetrical
and bright,

it springs
from the insistent tug
of holy underground.
I grow down.

I send up into the sun 
trunk and branches
to be seen, admired, climbed, 
used for shelter or shade, 

logged and laid out
in board feet 
or carved into
utilitarian shapes.

The tree is what you count as important —

but that’s not the truest part of me,
no, no sir.
That stump you leave behind?
That grip of roots holding on

long after you think
you’ve gotten
all of me
that matters?

Try grinding me out,
blowing me up, poisoning me. 
I will remain Hers.
I’ll be there, somewhere under

your feet,
well and deeply dug in,
still saying my 
“sir, no sir”

to you
with the ring
of sucker shoots
that will rise from me,

offering Her
a live crown 
for Her dark
and somber head.