Blood Root

poem & photo by Elizabeth

BLOOD ROOT

Blood blossoms burst
forth in war zones
as roots stretch deep.
I feel them when we fight
and I want to burn your tongue
black with hot rock
rather than hear
words opposing mine;
engorged roots strike through limbs -
my hand, your face.

Thank you to the editors of Hard Love for first publishing this poem.

Elizabeth Oakley Weaver's avatar

By Elizabeth Oakley Weaver

Even as a kid I've said it doesn't matter if I live to be 150: this life will be the blink of an eye. Poet, author, visual artist, photographer, educator and lover of life (though still working on the hard parts like Covid, violence, inequity), I'm completing a memoir inspired by and largely about dogs and people.

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