She was the manifestation of underground roots,
Those seldom seen from which such gift can be given, bronze skin.
Her hair symbolized what I felt as our eyes connected.
Her voice lifted my spirit higher than it's ever been.
Without anything to return, How do I reciprocate such a gift.
A thank you would hardly do justice.
Where has this been all of my life, her- using my hands as a vase to convene.
Hearing her voice blossom from the bud of where I stood.
A question that went in silence.
For the light that shines bright inside her blocks out that of the sun.
A space free to fill with what you please.
These are the words I pictured her telling me.
Over and over again until I was full enough to be tilted over and water her just
as shes watered me.
The root that no one remembers to water
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem