Soil

[iPenguin]

The years have not been kind.
Fifty long years buried deep in this soil
Now with my bones melting as candlewax
I lend them to the inner sanctum of pine, my favorite
To dwell in this soil for eternity,
This soil which has nourished me
Yet has given me no love
With roots buried deep enough to imprison
But too shallow to belong.

In my youth, I was buried in different soil
As my mother came running to scold us both
And unearth my scrawny little figure,
Kicking aside the little pail and bucket
As my brother ran inside.

The years have not been kind.
The other students were quick to point out
My skin the color of soil
My tongue, the color of a world far away
My mind, the color of difference.
I was not welcome.

Many years later I sat drinking coffee
(Which tasted like soil)
In a small, bland, office commissary
With small, bland, office coworkers
They smiled at me with their lips
They invited me to golf with them
I was not welcome.

The years have not been kind.
My skin lies folded like laundry on a pile in the corner
My organs are bare to the world
Translucent vessels carry my blood
Which after nearly fifty years
Still never contained enough white and blue for them.
My bones they will bury in this soil
Perhaps my skin and muscle too
But who will know where my heart belongs?

[hillwalker]

A quite masterful poem - suggesting the narrator's roots and heritage are more important than adapting a new persona to fit in with modern society.

The only flaw is that second line - 'Fifty long years.....' - a meaningless cliche since all years are presumably the same length.

H

[Mutatis-Mutandis]

Wow. That was a truly amazing poem. I can't say I "get" all of it (I've never been a master at poetic analysis), but the imagery is quite vivid, and you clearly have a mastery over language. Awesome poem.