Photosynthesis

Photosynthesis

My bones ache from the months of cold
shoulders hunched, chest sinking in on itself
as if I could disappear inside of my own warmth
like the core of the earth that smolders
when all the while death sleeps upon the frozen ground
I think of the seeds buried beneath my feet
dormant
waiting for the change of season
never impatient
while I grow weary and dissatisfied
forgetting what longs to bloom within
And yet my soul still remembers to bend toward the light

Angela Minard 2011©