when the time comes
i am not ready.
as in,
the ground beneath me is still dew-soft with summer
and i am just barely stretching awake
to a morning not yet frosted over. they grab my stem
(still green) and yank,
muttering words of indignation as my spotted
half-grown body refuses to pull free. serves them right,
i think, and settle deeper into the soil. it's not even halloween.
Posted in response to the challenge Pumpkin.
i know all the words, of course. who doesn't? we are practically
brainwashed into our knowing, having to stand and face the flag
(when did you learn that it was hand over heart &
you are.
and: you don't have to be.
let yourself exist.
sleep in late.
make your favorite foods.
hug your shoulders, your knees, not to hide behind but to marvel at.
you are marvelous.
i accidentally posted "letter to anyone who thinks they're not enough" in response to the us health challenge, which was a mistake, so i had to repost it.
Comments
I adore the story you have filled in to this short poem. The description of "dew-soft with summer" as the pumpkin is "barely stretching awake" is incredibly life-instilling, and the ending sentence of "it's not even halloween" is such a great ending line. A series of poems like this one, about different food's perspectives, would be wonderful to read!
wow thank you so much!!!!! maybe i will write some more haha :p
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