How can I look back on you with anything but reverence? How to cast the eye of memory back to any of the times we shared and not be humbled, have my heart melt and the coil within my chest unwind a little bit? For the things that were growth then are still growth now; occasions that bade me grow into a more compassionate heart still open up space to grow into—though not the same space, not that same soil. But my direction, my growth is the same—my tenderness, upon recalling you—and in that way our love shall be forever.

There is no contradiction, then, in moving gently away. To hold these reverent memories captive and demand their re-enactment from the present moment would be to do them wrong, to demand the wilder field grow corn when it’s already borne a wealth of life since its initial sowing—wild blackberries, and weeds, and mountain flowers blown in from some arid realm above, and foxes, groundhogs, deer, and rabbits that play within its convolutions. No, I would not go back to my furrowed rows; my neat, meticulous rows, so plowed when I presumed to see the shape of growth ahead.

Every artifact of my time with you is a token of a better day, each object that recalls a time a tattoo on my soul. I gladly make you a part of myself, to carry on in my identity and wear on my face and countenance; to let you shine when someone asks about the worthwhile things I’ve done in life; to have you saved in me forever.

And I hope the same is true with you too, that whenever someone lights you up I can smile out from within you; that you take me forth piecemeal into the world; that you share me using the discretion of your sweet soul. I conferred to you this responsibility with full faith—I did so when first our bodies met—I gave permission when my eyes first fell upon you with a magic glance.

Again the themes of softly spreading growth, again of non-possession. It seems the force of time has blown our dandelion to the wind, and it cannot be unblown. Looking forward reason says these parachuting seeds will go their course, land where they may—these memories each sprouting forth, a new experience will soon emerge, and that in time will be dispelled, to grow anew.

But oh, to look back on that time when fate brought my motive force together with your fully blooming flower and blew; when, shuddering, we launched our thousand pieces forth into the world.

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4 Responses to Seedlings

  1. Lale says:

    Joe, this is beautiful. Whoever you wrote this for, is one lucky being to have met you.

  2. Romina Crespo says:

    This is beautiful Joe ❤️

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