Solid I stood for so long
in the midst of danger.
Stood like a great oak
ready to withstand
all but the greatest gales.
And I fell from the force
of the blows. Too stubborn,
too proud, too hurt to bend.
And so I fell, uprooted.
For I stood as they pushed.
I pushed as they stood.
I tried to remain rigid
as they locked their arms around me,
pulling me toward the place
they called the ground.
I fixated on the straightness
of my vision—
the solidity of my spirit
as they attached me to devices
meant to send my soul soaring upward—
mechanical things that brought me
crashing down as they burned out of fuel.
Crashing to their ground, too rigid
to be uninjured by the fall.
Too solid in my vision
to let it be marred by their light—
light like in elementary school
on rainy days when even
fresh faced youth looked pale,
green.
I wonder, now, as I seat myself
by ponds and streams,
stay there for days, my roots
held by soft soil lapped
around my legs by water—
like a child at the beach,
letting the waves
bury her feet in the sand—
I wonder as I feel the wind
rush over my supple body—
as I feel myself give way
to each nuance of change,
out or in, whichever way I sway,
whichever way this space
allows me to grow—
I wonder if fire can
be fought with coals.
If the rigid form I once held
said anything about my soul,
or if it only made them push,
pull, more.
If I had learned to give a little,
bend in the right ways
to fill that space I was given—
without o'ertaking the garden
or straining my growth by
moving in unnatural ways,
I wonder if I could have
stayed closer,
some of my branches lifting
high beyond reach,
and some bending low
to where even those
on their ground could have
tasted of my fruit,
instead of the sparse tree
I became through their feedings.
Instead of the barren blossoms
I produced year after year,
waiting for the sweetness
to intrigue someone into
asking for a peach, that
I might yearn, learn
to bloom to fruition,
that my branches,
full with the ripeness of summer
might learn to bend.
Copyright 2004 by Cordelia Ridley
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