Becoming The Seed : A Poem By Eve Ladyapples

I am not the beginning, but I live in a small room near there.
I wake to light each moment.
I find the cracks and sing daily expansion songs to their sleeping ambition.
What I know is alive,
what I know is green and fearless and
unmapped reaching.

I have given birth to myself unnumbered times
offering to a larger nourishment
not meant for the stockpile
for shadowed storehouses of the unharvested.

This fertile form wants only to be put to use,
planted in rich soil, watered, weeded
one of a vast and diverse
permaculture.

I wake to light each moment.
I shed my protective coating so light can breed life.

Carried in bird beaks, on insect wings, on the laughing wind—
any earth is home and worth knowing.

I love best the rough strong hands that cradle me sacred.
I love equally the wild scatter and the even rows.
I sing equally the sowing song, the reaping song and
the song of perfect rain.

I am the joyful offering to any who know to ask.

And when I am done being Seed, I will laugh, rename myself the World and
go on singing this offering song.

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