(date uncertain)
They rise up
out of the dark earth
Each time it rains,
Poking their heads up,
Not flowers,
Not even pretty,
Stark, pale
Against the black soil
With no thorns to fear
As I grip the stem
Rough skin
Giving slightly to my touch,
As if I touch myself,
Feeling it down to the roots,
Stirring the head
In ways I least expect,
A mirror of my anatomy
The rising,
The shudder,
The ache.
I feel it down in my bones,
As if its roots
Are in me
I am the soil,
Out of which
It becomes erect,
This soil,
This black vibrancy
This ache,
The Mother Earth
From which
All joy comes
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