Resistance

When I woke at first, I rolled over and went back to sleep. When the phone rang at 9am I listened to the messages and rolled over again. I was so not feeling poetry this morning. What I felt like was a slug. Despite it being all sunshiney outside, looking all brisk with just a little gloss of frost at the edges of the flowerbeds. Maybe rain is more my muse…I mentioned I just was not feeling like writing a poem this morning to my dear husband, who promptly said, looking quite scandalised, But you have to!  Which was swiftly followed by Would you like some scrambled eggs? That is probably the cleverest stick and carrot maneuvre I’ve ever witnessed.

So I was fed scrambled eggs, tomato and toast in bed and, duly fueled, I got down to poetry practice. I met my resistance. With some tender care from my gardener husband. Who knows how too look after his plants.

Resistance

A seed
lies down
in cold ground
earth
gradually
warming

It's damp
down there
just enough
but
there are
also

pebbles,
grit,
sand,
sharp
particles
obstructing

A seed needs
to push up
against
compacted
soil
the sharp
the smooth
in the darkness

A seed needs
to make
its way
up,
around,
and over
the top
to meet

fire of sunshine
cold, blowy air
the morning dew
and the rain
in shower
and torrent

A seed needs
this trial
to bud
flower
fruit
set seed


to quietly
gather
its strength
over
and
over
and
over
again.


Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.
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