B#8

in early spring
when the frost is still retreating
its icy tendrils
from the woody boughs
where green has just started
to peek through,
i decided to offer myself to the sun
as well, knowing
that i might wilt
or burn
or starve,
but doing so because i needed to grow.
i don’t know any other way.
i’ve grown hardy
but i wish to flourish,
even in these no so temperate seasons
where thunderstorms come and go
and the earth wobbles
perilously on its axis
between hot days and chilling nights,
as if the universe itself
is against me
(i know that’s not true,
but it’s better than blaming
myself for refusing to grow).
but in these moments,
lying face up in the sun
on the prickly, wet grass
and blanketed by the rush
of wind through the palm fronds,
i feel like maybe
maybe i’m beginning
to get somewhere.

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