wetting soul
wetting eyes
wetting my hard tight heart.
Moisture spreads
and I am the seed
splitting apart…tearing the bad
from my goodness,
the mean streak
from my kind self.
I am ripping in half.
As my child self
from her urban oasis screams,
the old country lady I've become
whispers soft, soothing words
to ease transition.
The pain is ME
splitting apart.
The weeping, my submission to moisture
on the warm black soil
where I now find myself
becoming a tenderness--
a fervent green shoot
insistent on growth
pushes against my ribs
reaching upward in yearning
my form changes.
I begin to move forward
leaving behind
the hard casings
of my ungerminated heart,
My growing joy
spreads tendril
and climbs
one step at a time
toward the sun's shine
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