A Year of Days

A Year of Days by Take Root member Kelly J Niles The Loneliness of the warm spring wind reminds me you are gone a gray shadow on a distant wall marks the time that has passed the wind has become my constant companion fashioning lullabies that whisper your name singing softly of the love we knew I think of you on still lingering winter nights a month of nights a year of days how long must I wait for your return to the place we once knew where life was love freedom a song oh wind whisper to me return me to life give me a song set my heart free …originally written in 1988 for Davey, who is now my husband…one of many I left long ago because I couldn’t hang on to a meaningful relationship too long before I had to run. It also was written with thoughts of my mom–who I missed beyond comprehension while we were on the run. And of course, a daughter can never really separate herself from her father so, lots of messages to my abductor as well. Read Kelly’s abduction...

read more

Tight Rope

Tight Rope by Take Root Member Dana Self help books and Poetry abound A Palace…. a place deep inside taking a wonderous look around Blonde hair and eyes so truthfully green looking so ultimately wide eyed deciphering all that she’s seen This woman… now opening a foreign box remembering that little girl and al lthat she’s seen o though she sometimes thinks that she shouldn’t Time tells her it must be done and these new friends will help her through because they together have found the sun They who have Taken Root… hold each other up At times….there can even be heard a playful laugh and a gentle gigle something we haven’t heard since we were little...

read more

4 In My Family

There’s 4 in my family by Take Root Member Charlene There’s 4 in my family after I was born -1 messy divorce +1 abducting parent -1 custodial parent left behind -1 brother left behind =2 in the family “It’s just you and me kid, he said.” +1 name change -1 name change back +10 years on the run +6 different states that we lived in +14 different schools -10 years without Christmas or birthdays -1 missed childhood -1 attempted runaway -2 jobs in high school =18 the age I went looking for my left behind family +1 chance to become a daughter again +1 chance to become a sister again +1 more year until I moved out +2 more years until I could afford college -2 times I sent my dad money +1 love of my life +1 year of therapy +1 marriage +1 set of in-laws +3 years to adjust to new family traditions and holidays -1 failed relationship with abducting parent =27 the age when I last spoke with my father…… There’s 4 in my family now +1 wife and mother +1 doting husband +2 growing kids =4 new reasons to live, laugh, and love   Read Charlene’s abduction...

read more

My Life

This Is Not My Life, Is It? Lonely Shadows danced on my wall, In the distance I hear my mom’s call. “Try not to think of him, he’s not coming”. “Don’t be dramatic, it’s not worth running”. “He’s chosen a new life, and you’re not a part of it, he’s moved on and you must accept it.” The shadows made sounds in the lonely apartment, The mailman’s steps and his keys were a comfort, I knew that it was him and not someone coming to harm, Still I only wished that I was in my dad’s arms. The days were lonely, the nights were long, This is not where I belonged. Days and months passed without a word, Mom’s insistence to move on cut like a sword. Comfort was hard to find, Understanding was harder. For this cause, why must I be the martyr? Back and forth the emotions were turbulent. Trust issues were pushed to the absolute limit. The fighting continued, using me, the child inthe middle. How unfair was this for her – she was and is still so little. The tender memories fragile, Each object from my childhood is a rare find, How is it that I haven’t lost my mind? If only there had been someone who understood, Took me by the hand and led me to good. How many years would have been spent learning, loving, and living, Instead of hiding, lying, and coping? I missed years of my life with my father, And it took years to resolve the fears burdened by my mother. There was the ultimate day that I a young lady returned, With my childhood so far behind, to be understood I yearned. That child was me and I am her, He recognized me, but my childhood was a blur. It took years to fully understand what happened, And years more for him to know who I’ve become. We can’t change the past, it can’t be un-done. If I’d only had a person to find me, If I’d only had a person to giuide me, If I’d only had someone who understood, Who would fight for my rights and return me to good. There is no end to the feelings you have in this kind of life, No matter what you become; sister, mother, wife. One foot in front of the other, this is the only way, For there was no one there for the burdens to lay. Don’t let this be the cycle of normality, Find us, bring us home, and abandon us too, Don’t push us aside and think that we’re ok, We’re not ok, and we can prove it to you, Don’t let those of us with these stories be a number in a report, These are our lives, our memories, and our resort. – by Take Root member Jen read Jen’s abduction...

read more

Mom

Mom

read more

Heartwood

Heartwood an image appears an opaque silhouette haunts your mind where does it belong? what material does it want to be made of? flames splatter around the contours. so you weld. but the impression in your heart fades away, metal and fire was not the right element. an etching? half-done you cast it aside, it was not meant to be. you let the image rest and do other things in the meantime. you paint a wall. you dismember a stoop and bring it back to life again the ghost silhouette returns, and you meet it in the forest one afternoon wood its fiery eyes stare at you through the bark forcing you to shape them, to release them from the form they are accustomed to. if you leave the image too long, it will emerge from everything around you from the pages of the book you are reading from the faces you see, from the screen you focus your eyes on. it is a stubborn image, it taunts and teases you until you take out the piece of wood again but dissolves when you aim your scalpel at the wood pulp but you are stubborn too you carry the slab of wood with you and like a hunter with a spear waiting at the water’s edge you practice patience a chisel on a wooden canvas strokes the form out of hiding you see shapes and patterns glowing inside so much junk is in between you must clear the waste blocking the way and the more you persist, the easier it flows until finally the tips of your fingers can feast on the shapes lines contours forms curves you will sand it down with your fingertips this is a creation you will never be finished with 1999 by Take Root Member Linnea Kralik It is a poem about my Dad – he happens to be a carpenter, but the poem deals with the issue that he never gave up on finding me and my sister and brother, and also with the fact that “reuniting” is an ongoing process, which never really finishes Read Linnea’s abduction...

read more