They say we are planting seeds
But I don’t know
I just don’t know
If the seeds will grow
If there will be enough sunlight to make the seed take root
Or water to make those roots extend… up and out through the brown, dry soil
No wet earth to make the green stalk push easily out into the light—
Have we lost our collective minds?
Scrambling for some sense of normalcy, we want that old urgency, but… we don’t?
It’s like, we want to face the sun, you know?
That sun? That big, bright, burning ball of gas in the sky— to be proud
To show our unblemished visage to that glorious star
The one who, for eternity, remains in warrior pose
So sure of himself
No questioning or empty self reflections…
And in that same way we want to bask in it…
And yet, I still want to hide, in that earth, in the darkness, the blackest womb…
And I think:
Is it okay not to grow? What does that mean that I want to be back where I was… do I just crave the usual, predictable safety, or the warm embrace of the mother, that luscious amniotic fluid, my first feeling of true, tangible love and support?
Those petals of the mind, of the body, of the face prompts me up and out—
And I remember:
We need that sun, we need that water, I want to grow— but when? And how? Much more do I need to take in the up and down rollercoaster of a life that defies my beautiful words… that takes them all away… that leaves me sounding like I cannot write or express myself anymore… as I once did…
What have I done, petals? What have I done?
And then I remember again…
To let go…
As the petal does…
And I drop to the floor—
In that darkness
In that womb
To start anew—