In the summer
I planted an abundance of things
Following the seeds I had planted
Before, in the spring
It was too late for most of the flowers to grow
They told me ‘we are seeds
Too late to be sown’
But I laughed and I did it anyway.
As a child, I never learned how to walk;
I never learned how to crawl, or to grieve;
I never learned patience, or poise, or popularity;
So here I am:
A woman now.
My running shoes worn down through the tread,
And I’m making time to see, embrace, accept;
Reaching out with empty hands to share the stories of my journeys
With the ones I always held so dear;
Only now, they’re all too busy running.
Winter is knocking,
On a door I didn’t see.
My spring has all but left me
Taking with it all its seeds
Blooming flowers and trees
Babies, and their leaves
Fall peacefully on the ground of my longing.
But the summer left behind a huge harvest of impossibilities:
Flowers, massive and so massively
It’s fifty-eight degrees
and I am picking
Fields of flowers
That once promised not to bloom.
But who am I to give them to?
I keep on running.