imagine reaching deep into yourself,
past any sense of doubt or regret,
and reliving what made you -you-.
saturday mornings when your dad
cut grass and expected help he didn't ask for while bacon and eggs waited
in the kitchen,
or sundays where evening cartoons robbed you, so you wished
for extra sleep before sermons
and trips to CVS.
or holidays alone because jobs
are demanding, and it won't happen
again next year, where stillness forms into repression,
fueled by discomforts, angsts,
sadness.
and it isn't until much later
that the light of your own existence
takes root, petals up toward the sun,
and chooses to flourish.
