Germinating

The well has run dry –

or so it seems.

Life has been wordless

in this season.

There is something churning within

which stalls the poetry.

Whatever it is feels

essential and mysterious.

What I do know is that

I have no patience for simple

right now.

I cannot bear

any glossing over,

or easy finishes.

The necessary dredging

and stages must happen.

I seem to be germinating,

and it isn’t a comfortable process.

What is on the other side

of this hushed season?

It is hard to allow for change –

I don’t much like it.

I like my usual grooves 

which are predictable

and comfortable.

But I don’t get anywhere new

when I am in them.

I don’t live free.

Perhaps this is what

it feels like

to be tight in the shell,

or trapped under hardened ground,

heavy in its lack of nourishment.

I long to transcend to

a new place  –

a place where I have the freedom

to be me,

to speak the words

which bring the light with them.

Realizing what is true

and where wisdom resides,

I begin to see that

I am but a tiny green shoot

about to burst through.

It may feel a challenge

at the start,

but there is the promise

of a stunning bloom. 

I hold onto that

and am reassured.

Copyright@ Cynthia Cady Stanton, May 2021

And then the day can when the risk to remain tight in the buds more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

Anais Nin