Stubborn Root

I offered an olive branch this morning,

an offering between nests.

Rooted in love.

It began

ㅤ

with a scrape at the sill, like a fingernail—

I lifted the latch to crack the sash,

and a squirrel jostled a splash

of coffee on my lip.

It burned.

ㅤ

For all of love's differences,

we hated the wind

disturbing ours.

It uproots

what feels rooted

but love is a stubborn root.

ㅤ

That’s how it began.

A cold front moving in.

Bending the barren branches.

ㅤ

Then came a ring—the mother of my children,

the one who left for different reasons.

ㅤ

Their nest, too, had been disturbed.

ㅤ

her father,

my father-in-law,

was sagging in his recliner.

ㅤ

He offered me coffee.

I declined with a grin—considering the morning.

ㅤ

we laughed.

If nothing else, our humor persists.

ㅤ

I lowered myself

to lift him up,

to reconcile

what disturbed our nests,

ㅤ

to show I’m still there

for her, for him,

for them.

ㅤ

Despite the barren

branches,

love warms

from its roots.