A Poem: The Head

Yes, we are to grow up into you,
the Head.
The one who shows us
how to live.

But transformation I wonder
may not be so much a turning,
as a standing
and a digging in.

Like the trees that do not move,
but upon which
the birds sit and feed,
and spread their seeds.

Yes, perhaps your Spirit
is the little bird,
that perches in our hearts
and heads,

until the seeds that fall
in fertile ground
green and
flower in us.

Yes, the Head,
who shows us how to live,
you are at the utmost tip,
but also at the branches calling out,

and the roots
where we ground ourselves,
trusting in the things that
germinate in the dark.

Yes, there is no turning,
except maybe,
towards the sun’s warmth
and nourishment.

And there is no discounting
the struggling shoot,
which may yet
prove to bring

the very gift the world awaits.

Ana Lisa de Jong
July 2018

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