seed
a poem
seed
imagine yourself a seed with tender wings of paper or a puff of softness but no, you're a burr, spiky and caught in the fur of a passerby certainly not the floating husk of a coconut rough and sweet more likely an acorn someone else's lunch dropped forgotten rolling flying riding swimming covering covering as we drift through the grass or trees or sand or sidewalks with tiny cracks we will inhabit by brute force by resilience by stubbornness by sheer determination my dear traveling companion, compatriot we may feel the wind calling us tugging we may be yanked from our seedpod our flower our home and whisked off to somewhere unknown a totally different hardiness zone the lining of a coat pocket the trampled mud on old boots and yet we always find home again
So many of us are adrift in mental, emotional, and physical relocation, and I know that it can feel ungrounded and scary. Sometimes it helps me to remember that seeds do this all the time. These tiny packets of DNA and familial legacy carry only the very smallest piece of what they need to survive and thrive wherever they land, and… sometimes they fail. No wonder it’s scary. But sometimes they succeed.
Sometimes we succeed, too.
Your trans friend,
Robin
Very true Robin. Every spring I’m delighted by some new offering that I didn’t plant myself. Some stay and become integrated into the tribe, others last but a while and leave only a memory.
Thanks Robin, that is cool and true!! Your writings and poetry are a journey!!!