Rootstock

Rootstock

Garrett Soucy

When my wife was a child
She would lie on her father’s chest
Training her breathing
On the rising and falling of his stomach,
Trying to catch up to the man
Who had been doing it
For decades already.

Your inspiration shall be my inspiration.
Your expiration shall be my expiration.

My son tells a joke
He heard me deliver in the car.
Timing and emphasis
Fashioned in such a way
as to make the lines his own.
Round and round the airport;
Nowhere to land.

Your laughter shall be my laughter.
Your let down shall be my let down.

My mother would roll the dough thin
So that the cinnamon and sugar
Would take the stage.
I mimic the ratios even now
Not for the want of the rolls
But for that of time travel.
New patterns bowing before the old.

Your need shall be my need.
Your timing shall be my timing.

---

Garrett Soucy
Poet & Pastor

Garrett is a pastor at Christ The King Church in Belfast, Maine.

Photography by Jeremie Crausaz