First Fruits

How many times

did I rip up and replant these roots

just to wilt in the searing heat,

untended, un-watered.

How many times did I think

here, at least, is the perfect land

to cultivate, to sow bounty,

only to reap empty hard-labored hands.

They say the grass is green,

where you water it,

and for far too long it was only

the saline sprinkling of my tears

that dampened the dark, hard, tundra.

But now I have replated a new,

in the plains within me,

fertilized my heart with honest shade,

inner light, and wise nourishment.

I planted trees within, peach and cherry,

poured out streams of crystalline liquidity

from deep, untapped wells,

and watched as the saplings strengthen,

branched, stretched skyward,

until finally, they bloomed.

Now I puck the fruit, still warm

under my golden sun,

pull it to my long awaited lips,

and savor the first sweet, juicy, bite.