Brothers

I tripped
on the floor

The concrete slabs
were broken
re-arranged unevenly
by the robust tangled tentacles
of a tree
that was now looming over me
its leafy fringe
dangling in its eyes

The thick wooden pythons below
had pushed and shoved
the blocks
that were assembled
by the hands
of Smith and Jones
men and muscle
the products of our own

The ancient roots
had cracked the stones
lashed them with the whip of time

I stood up
and looked at my bloodied wrist
vein ridden
and glistening in the cold sun
I felt a burn on my kneecap
and without looking
I knew it too
was wet
with red
but
I smiled in the pain
skipping a breath
I felt it
and considered it a reminder
that the trees
will not be moved