carrot limb

i braid my legs beneath the dirt.
you ask me, "why do you always 
run away?" i have learned 
to grow deep. to go where
bones still drum. 
remember, a root is not a dead thing.
thick like a low-hummed song.
this is how we are fed.
sometimes i will hear someone say,
"back to my roots" & i will think,
"how have we survived 
so unnourished?" you come with
the spade. you dig & i watch.
there, my legs. they go deeper
& deeper. you ask me, "when
do they stop?" i am weeping.
it begins to rain frogs. the frogs 
all have the faces of my grandfathers.
i say, "i don't know." the question
is one of origins. where & why
did you start drinking downpour?
we do not reach an ankle. we do not pull
me up. you say, "i just want
to hold you." i do not want
to be held but i also do. 
i also want it desperately.
i want to be swallowed 
& tucked behind the ear
of an ancient being. for them
to keep walking & to forget 
the taste of my breath. my green face.
sun mitosis. two eyes beating down
on our little blood. you lay down
with me. shave my head 
just how i like. i speak in 
the broken plate morning.
"i remember my knees." 
you say, "i remember mine too."