poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “seeds”

back pocket

we keep planting seeds not knowing
what if anything will come out of the ground

sometimes we are pleasantly surprised
yet other times we chalk the results
up to luck of the draw

there is nothing charming about bad seeds
but somehow we learn to live with them

every so often I go back to the clinic
to have them tested
and each time they’re slightly different
the good doctor telling me
there is nothing wrong with change

given a clean bill of health
I bring home a new garden spade
hang it unceremoniously on the wall
a packet of wildflower seeds
shoved inside my back pocket

june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved


we germinated seeds wrapped in
moist paper towels
trapped inside teacup saucers
left behind beneath the kitchen sink

evicted for reasons unbeknownst
to the uncaring eye
we migrated into the metropolis
finding security amongst the living

barely surviving into the spring
we packed our things
heads held high and singing
like the birds following in our wake

crossing into newfound fertile lands
we planted something new
prayed to the gods that be
our resurrected hopes would grow

february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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