Kudzu

Written for Andy. I considered it for the service, but knew I couldn't get through it.



KUDZU

The kudzu grows overnight, climbing
every rock, shrub, tree.
Try to pull it, the roots hold tight.
Try to cut it, the stems are roped steel.
Spray it with poison, and it turns in upon itself
for air and water while beneath its leaves,
blooms a lovely purple flower.
Kudzu's roots deepen down dark so that even memory
can't begin to find where they start.

In the sunlight by our land where kudzu grows,
the two of us stand, neither in the other's shadow.
You have gone into the strangest places with me,
places I never thought you'd dare to go,
places I never thought anyone would accompany me.
When I cry, you hold me, and in those rare times
when you cry, I remember the holding and touch you.
Those tears, like roots, have helped us grow out and up,
journeying where I never dreamed. And beneath the tears
blooms love like light tinged with purple joy.
With you, I can be still, and when we do walk,
we're so in step that the movement seems still.
Fast we hold, fast one to the other
greening toward more green.





Susan Herport Methvin