My seed coat is pressed up against me
holding tight, protecting me
as I age I break free from its grasp
growing away from its warmth
when there is finally room to stretch I let my roots flow out of me, bursting downward towards the center of the Earth
coming from the opposite end of my body is my radicle
reaching for the light, it climbs its way out of the darkness and into the sweet summer air
to feel more of the sun's heat I unwrap my cotyledons
so enthralled by the light, I can't help but but let true leaves sprout upwards, to touch the sky
my leaf viens swelling with excitement
I need more
before I had time to think, an internode grew out of me
with small buds everywhere
I am content, but need more color in life
so I forced the buds to explode into a bright yellow color
apparently the yellow also attracted some bees
because I was soon surrounded by them
after they left I felt tired, worn out
ready to sleep
I let my body start to decay
shrinking back down to the darkness
the silence
as I leave, I decide to give part of myself back to the Earth
out of my last living limb
I squeeze out a few more seeds for you to remember me by
there, now my work is done
I will rest

Sorry no poetry today!
We’ll try again.

Weeks pass. Nothing to say-
is it not yet thought of-
sprouting, not yet budded.

We treat the sprout
the radicle deepens
budding begins
we have a seedling
on the rise.

This is the poem-
You sit there and wonder
what a wonderful change.
From ignorance of beginnings
to glorious realization:

The menthol Newport n our hands,
Orion overhead, dull street lights,
smoke from our lungs distorting the lake.
I wonder what it is like-
Like what?
how the world looks,
through your eyes.

I see playfulness
my imagination runs rampant,
merging realties to become-
surreal. I disrupt the compliant
by paving the roads with
trees of broccoli-

So that is your world-
we share the desire,
to glorify our imaginations
surrealism you say-
romanticism I suggest.

I have to tell you.
I do hate broccoli.