Monday, March 14, 2016

Birthed of need and devotion in the buzzing daylight, we were cast down. Our own rot surrounded us. The ground softened and swallowed us.

We broke out of our skins. Triumphant and certain, we pushed towards the light.

Some died upon stones. Some were entangled within our mother’s down-reaching limbs.

I alone broke free. I tasted sunlight for nearly a dozen days before it came.

Great whorling blades of bitter iron cut me back into the earth.

The gardener wished for radishes this year.

prose poem 25 | story of a tomato seed

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