By Suhanee Mitragotri, 17, Lexington, MA
Great
great
great
grandparents walked the homeland.
Their footprints were artifacts in the wet mud,
memories of a time
they found the only patch of land that hadn’t
been consumed by someone else.
In their right hand they held seeds
and in their left a garden shovel.
Those seeds were tucked under earthen
ground, blessed with water above and
warmth below.
They soon blossomed into little babies
who cried for their parents at night
waiting for a cradle to rock them to sleep.
They still needed someone to water them
someone to help them grow.
But these babies became children
and these children became adults
and these adults needed no one’s help
and they wanted to be as far from the soil as possible.
They became bustling city folk breathing in
polluted air and hearing the car horns that
splattered impatience on the busy streets.
They trudged aimlessly along the cracked
sidewalks, never taking a moment to
observe the person waving to them across
the street.
And eventually they needed more space to
stretch their limbs.
They wanted to leave.
They headed for America
where air didn’t smell of gasoline,
where there was space for their seeds
to grow.
Their leaves could finally reach sunlight.
They no longer had to fight for water.
They no longer had to fight for ground
but
somehow
they still found something to fight about.
They realized the soil wasn’t like the
soil they grew up in back home.
They realized the soil was changing their children.
They realized that a tree was growing
flooded with leaves, flowers, branches
but you could no longer see the roots.
The roots were back in their homeland
The roots were supporting this family.
The roots remained with the seed.
The roots are what kept the family tree alive.[Photos opposite page: By Lauren McCabe, 14, South Burlington, VT – Same Time Next Year ... Right Here]
Great
great
great
grandparents walked the homeland.
Their footprints were artifacts in the wet mud,
memories of a time
they found the only patch of land that hadn’t
been consumed by someone else.
In their right hand they held seeds
and in their left a garden shovel.
Those seeds were tucked under earthen
ground, blessed with water above and
warmth below.
They soon blossomed into little babies
who cried for their parents at night
waiting for a cradle to rock them to sleep.
They still needed someone to water them
someone to help them grow.
But these babies became children
and these children became adults
and these adults needed no one’s help
and they wanted to be as far from the soil as possible.
They became bustling city folk breathing in
polluted air and hearing the car horns that
splattered impatience on the busy streets.
They trudged aimlessly along the cracked
sidewalks, never taking a moment to
observe the person waving to them across
the street.
And eventually they needed more space to
stretch their limbs.
They wanted to leave.
They headed for America
where air didn’t smell of gasoline,
where there was space for their seeds
to grow.
Their leaves could finally reach sunlight.
They no longer had to fight for water.
They no longer had to fight for ground
but
somehow
they still found something to fight about.
They realized the soil wasn’t like the
soil they grew up in back home.
They realized the soil was changing their children.
They realized that a tree was growing
flooded with leaves, flowers, branches
but you could no longer see the roots.
The roots were back in their homeland
The roots were supporting this family.
The roots remained with the seed.
The roots are what kept the family tree alive.[Photos opposite page: By Lauren McCabe, 14, South Burlington, VT – Same Time Next Year ... Right Here]
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