At the Root

Issue 15

If a child is fossilized by
old corrupted hands, by
fury that cloaks a once familiar
face before first blossom,
can they still grow to become
a man?
            Look, don’t ask me,
I am still just a bruised
nine year old boy dragging her
handprints like petrified wood
to the schoolyard every day,
sending out little dispatches
on the wind like the leaves
of an acacia tree, unanswered
 
one by one
by one.

---

T. B. Vittini​ is a poet and librarian based in Sydney. His poetry has appeared in Portside Review, Jacaranda Journal, and Trash to Treasure Lit.

---