There’s a sense of imbalance when
in all its bigness, shows you
all your smallness. How you can’t
step over mountains with your
pudgy feet. You look at your toes
on the marbly floor. All trees
that hold firmly
thrust deep inside the ground as they
rose with their necks high, high up
above the skies.
You have roots. You have wires. All
connected, swirling and swiveling inside your body.
The next time life tells you “such a poor, small dust,”
hold your place, lift your hands up and reach
You will fail, but you will not fall; you will be
scarred, but you will not be shamed
After all, you are actually
a tree bigger than your body
saw that coming.
Best read on bad days, because poetry, after a moment of word-and soul-finding, turns hearts the other way around.