Like Malice

Like Malice

I tugged a stone from my cell of soil,
My personal earth, curved and grainy in the
Bottom of its pock. I saw them — tumbling,
They were. And I heard them — cursing, they were.

And I was their god, and my glance
Hardly touched their humped and hurrying backs
As they set about –and without
Hesitation– the rebuilding of

The lanes and homes and secret sinks of kin
And kind, sparing neither glare nor stare
For me, the shaker of their roots, but
Instead, ran and rang their tiny bells

And called a convocation that could point
Their group towards a fresh beginning in
Tomorrow’s rays. I’m rooted, blithe in heart,
Gripping my ways, and it feels like malice.