1. Cycle
I was born,
in Winter,
with a pocketful of seeds,
beans and basil,
onions and peas.
Was called by rain,
and Spring,
to dig, to plant, to tend,
beans and basil,
onions and peas.
Inhaled, imbibed, devoured
Summer’s
juicy crunch and scents,
beans and basil,
onions and peas.
Plucked and gathered,
in Autumn,
withered promises,
beans and basil,
onions and peas.
In my pocket seeds lie still,
wait for Spring again.
2. What Are These Seeds?
We are born
with a pocketful of seeds.
Dandelions that blow away?
Kernels of wheat to feed us?
Maybe crab grass, briars, and weeds,
or poppies to lighten our days.
Study them, choose which to tend?
Sow them, and see what comes up?
Offer them to a flock of birds?
Send them off to a seed bank preserve?
Or hide them under a bushel–
and die with empty pockets.
3. Affirmation
You were born
with a pocketful of seeds,
tiny packages
of possibility,
only waiting
for your hand
to scatter them
and watch them grow.
Ann Fuller is a member of Santa Monica Friends Meeting (PacYM).