"Uprooting" by Donald Illich

Uprooting

I destroyed the street I once lived on.
Blasted blacktop, the basketball hoop, cracked sidewalks,
a hill to the bus stop.

Taking rotten houses in my hands, I bowled them
toward Kroger’s. They smashed into produce aisles,

the deli with miles of roast beef.
I gashed backyards with a giant knife, digging gardens out,
tossing grills in the air

where they blazed.
Every flowering bush was uprooted.
No more jasmine to smell. 

I tore apart the yard where I cried when I couldn’t tag anyone.
I replaced where Dad’s belt lashed me
with old growth forest that belonged there.

Each scab was like a flea
full of blood thrown in a heap with lighter fluid,

smoke singeing my eyes. A hole remained.
I couldn’t remove it, no matter how hard I seized it.

Donald Illich

Donald Illich has published poetry recently in The MacGuffin, Slant, and Okay Donkey. His book is Chance Bodies (The Word Works, 2018). He lives and works in Maryland.

Headshot: Julia Berzhanskaya

Photo Credit: Staff