you took care as you planted me,
choosing a soft place in the earth
where you would make my home.
my safety.
october, you pressed the soil over my eyes.
the darkness learned my name,
held me without question,
and i learned to love the stillness.
i grew fond of the leaves above,
their brittle songs as wind passed through.
how they lingered, briefly,
before resting at my side.
you were quick to clear them away
hands steady and practiced.
no disturbance to the soil.
nothing left where it shouldn’t be.
then the cold arrived without warning,
seeping through the dirt, through me,
and i folded myself beneath it,
believing this was best for me.
you did not return to check on me,
did not smooth the surface clean.
the weight of your hands absent,
though the hope of light remained.
still, i endured the ache of frozen hours,
the way the dark stretched longer each day,
telling myself the hurt was useful,
that patience could pass for love.
even as the frost crept closer,
i stayed where you placed me,
rooted in what i was given,
hoping it would be enough.
april loosened the earth at last,
warmth threading slowly through my veins,
the soil softening around me,
as if welcoming me back to myself.
when you returned, i brightened,
opened myself to the light,
grew into the shape i thought you had imagined.
petals careful, colors obedient.
your hands were rough this time.
you lifted me from my home,
roots breaking clean in your grasp,
studied me with measured eyes.
you trimmed me into something presentable,
cut away what still belonged to me,
frayed ends, fading green,
imperfections you would not keep.
in the end, there was no place for me.
not in your hands.
not in the earth.
tossed above the soil, left to fade.
2/1/26
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