The Mighty Root That Couldn’t

I’ve grown and so have you but someday I must stop writing about agriculture

You see, the place that birthed me was nothing but the ground

And I found solace and friends and dead pets

In the dirt

Lacing my fingernails

Sometimes I wonder about Sylvester the cat, my turtle resting in a matchbox

Their bones combined and lost through time

Nothing really mattered, not even matter

Perhaps they stayed intact

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