I am striving
to be like bamboo
and bow
with the weight of winter
arcing my frame, almost
to the ground
and when winds wither
and when snow clumps
melt into puddles
I will rise again and drink
and grow
knowing my roots, too, cling
below ground level
shoots and knots and achors of fear
thoughts grown out of control
holding out of habit
pull down on me.
Still I will bend.
