invasive species

CARTER SKAGGS | SENIOR, JOURNALISM

my roots sprawl through the bluegrass like flourishing lime green kudzu strings, those devouring long things eating up land in a mean streak. i’m the fallen leaves from the tulip trees, thick goldenrod-colored dust gathered from bunches of yellow fluff. i run through the streams of the river Red, i dig into the skins of dogs as ticks from evergreens; it is me who whistles through your wind chimes during september windstreams. i show up bilirubin bruisin’ contusions on the smooth front-ends of a child’s shin, them darling rascals gushing through thrush like freshly bulldozed gravel roads for newly curbed suburban summertime blurs; those little red freshwater pearl cluster-bumps oozing puss—oily leaves shaped like cardinal feet (i’m the sticky residue dripping from canker tree wounds, too). it is i who travels through the chitter and chatter of scattered city slickbacked slackers, through freckles splattered on a small kid’s cheek i speak in sheets of limestone shelves showing through shallow creeks, or a fog rolling along the horizon like hot breath on a window pane, huddles of people in a blizzard all screaming my name—i’m there, i’m there, i’m there.