A Seed Becoming

By: Antonia Nelson

We find ourselves soaring, though stripped of our sight

Jailed by a beak, wings beating on either side

The only thing to comprehend;

A vast, green forest lacking an end

A small brown vessel is what we can be

Carrying life above a leafy sea

Alas we are stabled,

Upon a bank of vegetation

Buried deep in the ground,

Rich soil is where we rest ourselves,

Letting ourselves bend to the contours of the verdure

We feel ourselves extending,

Reaching,

Stretching,

Toward the impending light

We enrich ourselves among others,

Feeding ourselves,

Light landing onto our limbs,

Moisture effortlessly flowing into each other,

Until we can see far in each direction

Tiny buds bloom into flowers,

Buried under snow, we cower

Reaching far and wide into our home,

This is the place we make a seed of our own.