Plea from a Hopeful Seed
I am a seed, a kernel of something
yet to come, bleached white, bone-dry after lying out here on the
gritty sand all these long drought years. I'm lonely, too, cut
off from my siblings who've been dispersed by the winds of war or
who've fallen through the gigantic cracks in the parched earth.
I'm harmless in spite of the pointy ends that, if one were to pick
me up the wrong way could prick a person, perhaps even draw a tiny
drop of blood. I pray for a carrier, a courier, to ignore my
prickly parts, to see the potential in me, to carry me to a new
place. I fear I cannot survive being dropped again, abandoned and
alone for more months, years. Are you that person? If you carry me
gently me, cup me carefully in the palm of your hand, if you can see
beyond my withered, wrinkled skin, my nondescript color, if you
notice my rounded sides and soft middle, have the insight to imagine
me plumped up, if you have the insight to help me grow into my
destiny, if you handle me kindly, lovingly, plant me in fertile soil,
where sunshine abounds, give me water, nutrients, I will live up to
your investment in me. I will put down long roots, grow strong
shoots that push up through the darkness into the light, form a bud,
then burst into blossom, delight your senses with color and fragrance
and velvety touch and, over time, I will grow tall and substantial
with boughs that can shade and cradle you, fruit that can nourish
you. This I can promise you.
-Diane English
Saturday workshop, Spring 07
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