up from the cracks

Life comes up from the cracks
out of the asses of birds
from flood and fire
oaks soaked and blackened before
they open one soft green finger to
taste the world.
Mustard bursts out of the bleak earth.
If the anchor behind you
has got you believing it’s all drag,
Stop. Try to Stop.
Life comes up from the belly,
copper in the mouth.
Flexes the fists open.
You just try stopping
Mustard seeds in your dry chest
waiting for their chance.

One Comment

  • Beth Follini commented on 2013/05/05

    Ahhhh….a fellow poet!

    Love your poems Pol – the last lines of this
    ‘Mustard seeds in your dry chest
    waiting for their chance’

    beautiful.

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