The Seedling

As a child,

my sense of self was stolen -

dismantled

before it could even begin to explore

or lay down its roots.

Like a seedling making its first appearance in spring,

that should have been given time

to settle in its new home,

I was ripped out, discarded,

my tender shoots exposed.

The vacant ground that was left

became overrun with weeds -

creeping buttercup,

poison ivy,

witches’ shoelace.

Their merciless stems burrowed themselves

into every inch of my life,

sapping up every drop

of whatever good was left.

But a garden run with weeds

is never beyond repair.

Though recovery is anything but gentle,

and not for the faint-hearted.

Clearing the unwanted weeds

requires determination,

commitment,

and a dose of courage.

The anger -

the rage at the loss of what should have been -

becomes your strength

to keep digging deep.

It can be back-breakingly relentless

and disheartening,

riddled with stings, bites, grazes, and dirt.

Some days,

it seems like the weeds will never be gone -

there’s always a forgotten root

hiding in the earth,

waiting to rear its head

in another month,

year,

or season.

But soon,

there is a clearing.

Patches of fresh soil appear -

repaired,

and ready to be a home for new life.

A new seedling grows

and reclaims the soil -

tended and nurtured

with the patience and love

it always deserved.