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Poet Commentaries

Tough Nut

 

Tough Nut

 

So impervious to frost,
hardened against freeze and thaw,
how ineffective the hen peck
and heavy spring rains are
to soften calloused skin.

Nine cycles of spring,
blown about by four winds,
shuffled aside by two squirrels
looking for bigger and better
than you.

Six times turned by plow
that clod nestled in those clods
cozy, dry and uncracked;
wrapped up in yourself.

Spring precipitates;
so much precipitates
the bloom.
That burst moment;
that inside you knew
would come
outside.

Come on you knew.
Always a knock and scratch
an uneasy shift and itch;
dander and dust
from the inside of husk
as you groped along
its coarse ribs.

hmmmm…
and other conversations
with yourself…
but you did not know.
not really.

What do you call
forced to your knees
as roots of sorrow
sink into punky earth?

What do you call
the jubilant joy jump
as you shoot through
the earth to the sun?

In that explosion
you grab at and feed
off the shrapnel
of what you were
trying to stitch together
the old seed coat.

It is no use
the only way is up
and down
worming your way
through compost and sky.

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