Kinship

Does the seed know
it is made to be more
than a seed?

Or does it too, tremble,
At every mysterious stirring from within;
at each unknown and strange vibration
of uncurling root and tendril,
sprout and leaf?

Maybe it knows
perfectly
that it will keep changing
forever,
precariously balanced
between earth and sky.

But I like to think
we require the same acts of trust:
The seed,
cupped in the hollow of my hand.
The universe,
curling its fingers around me.

 

Poem by Erin Liana Johson

Erin Liana Johnson currently works as an Associate Clinical Counselor in California’s Central Coast alongside the redwood trees and the irrepressible ocean. Sometimes she finds time to write! Previous awards and publications include the Richardson Poetry Prize and the Spectrum Poetry Award (College of Creative Studies at UC Santa Barbara, 2006.) And “Scleroderma At 15” (The Body Eclectic: An Anthology, edited by Patrice Vecchione, Henry Holt and Co., 2002).

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s