ROOTS by MARIA DURAN

the family as an olive tree: something living, something ugly. an old gnarled thing with deep veins, honey-like sap. the family as something too fond of close embraces. the family as something too close to embrace. the family as something with ugly leaves and green-black things hanging from its boughs. not flowers. not berries. fruits, to be wrung dry of their juices. the family as an olive-maker. the family as a tree that takes centuries to rise up. the family as something too fond of the red soil. the family as a religious symbol. olive branches by the altar. the family as an altarpiece. the family as an hallelujah. the family as a tree that produces hallelujahs. the family as an olive tree: something with roots that grow over and through and around each other.

 


Maria Duran is a bilingual poet, writer, and lapsed piano player, in order of importance. She studies Art and Humanities in Lisbon when she is not attempting to knit colorful hats or whistle Moon River somewhat recognizably.

Advertisements
vagabondcitypoetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s