Driftwood: wood which has been carried onto the shore by the motion of the sea or a river, or which is still floating on the water. (Collins Dictionary)
We have all grown from something. All started small and developed and changed into something bigger and connected to others. But when we have to, or choose to, break away from our roots, who do we become in the process? And does it ever stop looking like a mess? This poem is my exploration of what it looks like to break off like this and the tension between being moved by the current and moving with the current.