This is the first poem I ever penned in the adult phase of my life, back in 1989. It is a slight and very tentative prose-poem, heavily influenced by the French prose-poets and psycho-analytical thinkers I was obsessed with at the time. It has nevertheless served as a sort of germ or program for the many very different poems I have written since. It is about roots, in both the literal and symbolic sense of the word, but also, in itself, constitutes a tap root from which many other filaments and rhizomes have subsequently grown. I submit it in response to this week’s ever-inspiring Poetry Rehab prompt https://wordpress.com/read/post/feed/31982590/904442073 Other examples of my earlier poetry can be accessed at http://featuredpages.homestead.com/PaulWebbPortfolioonep.html.

Young Carrots

These roots, when torn out into contact with the light, appear at once miraculously amber and pitifully dirty. Miraculous because they amount to an unforeseen treasure; pitiful because they can never be put back where they came from.