Terry Trowbridge

Ginger Learns

Lighting strikes the ground.
A ginger root begins to grow.
Lightning strikes the ground around.
The ginger root grows another node.

Upheavals and epochs.
Lightning strikes the rocky tor.
The ginger root, held in a crag, grows another node.
Ginger now has a root with two nodes.

A mouse bites the ginger root.
Aftertaste of lightning.
The mouse is wide-eyed, never sleeps again,
except during thunder storms.

Avalanche dislodges the crag.
For a minute, the ginger root becomes thunder.
Another node joins the root like cumulus cloud.

The forest is gone, and the snow stays far away.
The ginger leaves sway in a growing wind.
Heat lightning strikes the prairie.
Another node appears.

A hoofy ruminant trots past.
The ruminant returns and sniffs the wide leaves.
The smell of electricity spirals into the sky.
The ginger wonders if roots are a kind of antlers.

Continental shelves clutter each other.
The prairie is a mesa.
Hare and groundhog abound.
They are architects. The ginger feels tunnels that extend from dens.

Ginger feels tunnels and dens.
Ginger decides to let go of the lightning.
A plant must leave behind the seed,
and become an architect of itself.