Roots & Branches

I come from hands that knew the dirt,

that pressed seed into stubborn ground

without guarantees,

only faith and a farmer’s patience.

Roots don’t rush.

They learn the language of dark places,

memorize the taste of clay and rain,

cling when the world shakes

and call it resilience instead of fear.

My roots are names spoken in kitchens,

stories told twice because they mattered,

lessons handed down like heirlooms:

Do the work. Tell the truth. Stay standing.

They are the quiet disciplines—

showing up early, staying late,

honoring commitments when no one is watching.

That’s what grounds me.

Not applause.

Not ease.

Foundation.

But I am not only what holds.

I am also what reaches.

Branches are ambition with a backbone.

They stretch toward light

without apology,

testing the sky to see what’s possible.

They learn to bend with storms,

to lose a few leaves and keep growing anyway.

Branches carry risk.

They understand exposure.

They know that visibility invites wind—

and grow outward regardless.

What carries me forward is motion with memory.

Purpose tethered to principle.

I move because those before me stood firm.

I extend because something deep said I could.

Each branch is a question I dared to ask,

a door I knocked on,

a future I claimed before it was certain.

Roots keep me honest.

Branches keep me brave.

Together, they make a life that can weather seasons—

one that knows where it came from

and refuses to stop becoming.