All That Reaches Back
A poem about the lineage of hands and the longing to grow beyond them
My roots are my grandmother's kitchen,
the smell of bread rising at dawn,
her hands kneading patience into flour,
teaching me that some things cannot be rushed.
They are the stories told in uncertain terms
languages I understand but cannot speak,
photographs of people I never met
whose cheekbones I carry in my face.
My roots are stubbornness and survival,
the sway of what was left behind
so I could stand here, unafraid
to take up space, to grow upward.
But branches are queries
I learned to ask, doors I learned to open.
They are the books that taught me
the world is wider than one kitchen,
one language, one way of being right.
My branches stretch toward strangers
who became chosen family,
toward cities my grandmother never imagined,
toward work that could not have fed her,
yet feeds the part of me she planted
the need to make, to give, to matter.
Still, when the wind picks up
and I roam too far from center,
it's the roots that hold.
They say, remember where you come from.
And the branches say back, remember where you're going.
Both are true.
Both are home.
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Masterful proofreading
Zero grammar & spelling mistakes
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme
Keep reading
More stories from Tim Carmichael and writers in Poets and other communities.
Standing While Falling
Quotation from Friedrich Nietzsche "He who wrestles long with monsters should beware lest he himself become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. Man is not destroyed by suffering, but by the meaning he makes of it."
By LUCCIAN LAYTH7 days ago in Critique
Comments (4)
Those roots sound so familiar, yet are not so different...just takes different roads to the self. This spoke volumes, Tim.
Well-wrought! "Kneading patience". I thought: needing patience, made with love. This one is deep, like the roots it describes.
Wow kneading patience into flour. As one must have, to need a dough. But I love how you transferred that virtue to the flour. Languages you understand but cannot speak. Seems like a popular thing that happens with learning something old. They have their own flow and reasons. Unafraid to take up space. Wow. This gave me the confidence, I didn't know I needed. Wider than 'one' kitchen 🤯 Strangers who became chosen family. Sometimes those kind can be the best kind. Oh my gosh, Tim. I am going cry. This line got me, 'towards work that could not have fed her'. I feel that its meaning is not on the surface, maybe it is. But the one that resonate with me, is the one underneath. You've made the branches very wise, 'remember where you are going' we have to keep going. We can't always stay. Oh those last two lines. This poem brought so much warmth. Thank you. I don't even know why I am saying thank you. But I think you will understand 🤗❤️
This was so profound. Loved your poem!