The broccoli was a disappointment this year—
planted from seed, it had finally begun to sport
small knobby green heads when the frost came.
And though the broccoli didn’t die, it stalled.
Perhaps I fear I am like this broccoli—destined
to grow but never to fruit. Perhaps this is why
I feel such urgency, this need to write faster,
heal quicker, mature sooner, love more. Because
what if the freeze comes? What if I die before
doing what I have come here to do?
There is a part of me who is patient. A part of me
who says, Sweet One, you could not possibly be
any more you than you are right now. She tells me,
You are exactly enough. And sometimes I believe her.
But sometimes I roll my eyes at her and tell myself,
Hurry up, hurry up. I know myself as barren stalk.
I try to will my own ripening. Not once has it worked,
not once, and still this strange drive:
go faster, do it better, do it now.
Me too… I first wanted to ask you to let us know if you ever figure out how to ripen faster, except, thinking about it, I’d prefer to be able to hold back the frost instead.. This strange ripening process probably needs all the time it can get.
🙂
Yeah … that may be the better way to do it, to hold back the frost. thanks for going there with me …