Bernadette van Duyvendyk, February 17, 2025
I live in a box of seeds
collected last fall
now lying dormant
as the doldrums of winter
ignite a raw west wind
that heaves towering screens of flying snow
through naked tree limbs
just outside the window panes
I live in a box of seeds
you shake the box
a simple promise in your palm
possibilities, saved from the dumpster
yet viable
patiently arranged alphabetically
in shallow, cardboard trays
I live in a box of seeds
when spring’s sun sweetens the earth
I am released from this box
of cool dry darkness
through an ever so brief breath of light
into a warm, moist soil
of measured rows
I live in a box of seeds
we birth sprouts
watered and rooted
by the gravitational pull
of a waxing and waning moon
spirited by the warm soul of June’s sun
bearing buds, leafing out
I live in a box of seeds
new life awakens
coded with a mission
to bear fruit
to nourish our nurturing host
with a bounty
of luscious legumes, leafy greens, and squashy squash
I live in a box of seeds
robustly maturing
hopeful for a gracious nod of appreciation,
and silent gratitude, before the harvest,
while there is still a moment
to hear you
our limited lives fertile and fragile-just like yours
