Stem

Born a brittle seed beneath soaked soil,

I bathed in clear liquid when it rained

and quenched my thirst.

My edges became roots, clawed deep into the ground,

the core of me, originated and elongated

from hydrated clouds and clear skies.

Once drowned in wakeless rain.

Once scarred from fiery flames.

Once chipped away by a metal ax.

But I stood still, large and brown

until I lifted my arms to pray,

and shrub fingers curved in stiff winds.

Unripe leaves danced on

blistery summer days,

they change, fall in cold winter nights.

Through destruction and long seasons,

my native roots kissed and tightly squeezed the one

who gave me a life, a story, a life story, my mother

earth.