In the wondering,
I asked who I am. Not who I might be,
or who I was one or two
seasons before, but who lives in this,
my fertile moment — now,
when the surprise of a hearty spore descends…
…descends, from an exhausted
frond, shocking the plant itself, poor thing already
thin stemmed, half
confused at where it seems to have rooted. It looks
too shallow, this ration
of clay and sand and stone, not enough for satiety.
Yet, it occurs to me
amidst the falling, amidst the exchange between
ending and beginning,
conversation with blunt winter and a tense summer,
that a shard of glass
also has ground itself into earth, into this evolution
of selfhood. And at this second,
when I feel as both dust and leaf, pale by the light
of a furious noon and all
we think is holy, I see that, simply, I am. That mostly,
I can exist anywhere. That
I can live here anytime. Mostly, I can be. Mostly, I am the soil.
Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, copyright June 18, 2024, all rights reserved
Inspired by Don Boivin
Posted in Uncategorized
