Fallow

We moved about the soil with filthy hands

dried from lack of rain and more dust

than life within the fallow soil

where nothing grew

and roses hung like withered cocoons on lifeless stems.

What brought us into this place,

this tired garden with no color

in a colorless world

where over there, sprawling farms of green

lay beyond the stretches,

places we could never seem to reach.

We dug out the dirt

hole upon hole with our seeds of magic,

praying for something to take,

waiting for anything to thrive in this place

yet we watered with tears

as the ground greedily sucked each one away,

and nothing grew here in this bed

except weariness and bitterness.

We left when I was small, tiny almost

yet so very large in my mind

and I looked above for that was my garden

and I do not plant still today,

for within is the richness I hadn’t found then,

in each word,

each thought

and each feeling I encounter,

I bloom here where I am planted

and I live

I thrive.

I chose two minutes for a timed rolling piece of conscious thought here with this poem…I planted the seed after seeing many posts about roses, but as a child we only had poppies in a tired dried out garden bed. This is what I made. Peace and love, Kim