You are cordially invited
to put yourself first;
to meet your own needs,
pursue old passions and new interests,
and like yourself.
The pleasure of your company is requested
by your best self.
Go to her.
The time can be now, or whenever you're ready.
Directions are enclosed (within you).
Refreshments will be served.
Oh yes, and one more thing:
there will be dancing.
You ask for proof. Performance.
I show you leaves and roots.
You ask for experts. Answers.
I show you the sun.
You ask for data. Scores.
I show you smiles.
My evidence abounds, but you dismiss
what is green, not red or black.
How can a sprout or wisened oak
speak to a bottom line?
You fear delays and wasted time.
I watch no clock--
only yellowing.
Photosynthesis
is equal parts math and magic,
formula and faith.
Sometimes I wish I could learn
to count,
to speak your language,
to please you.
But my tongue is tied
when you ask "how much?"
because my answer is...
my whole soul.
I sense the smallest pebble
of skepticism in your hand--
the wall shoots up, diamond strong,
granite thick, mountain tall.
Cold, impenetrable,
to guard my heart: living, breathing
outside my chest,
planted in the richest soil
I fetched from faraway.
There's one small window
and a door. Can't you see?
The handle is unlocked. Walk through,
I beg wordlessly.
You’ll see the children have been picking
all day,
and find them slumbering in sunlight
with fruit-stained cheeks
behind the garden shed.
But you look through the window,
see me napping on the grass
amid heaps
and heaps
of dirt.
No baskets of fruit upon the ground.
Hundreds of invisible stems.