<\/p>\n
It is different, and also it is the same. In the morning, the children wake you because they are
\nhungry. In the morning, you walk towards the river and text friends until you find someone else
\nawake, another human voice to walk with you, though not beside you. Spring keeps coming, it is
\nsolace and also heartbreak to see buds open. You order more seeds and more seeds, move
\nthe kitchen table to the window and clear everything else away so that what can still grow, will
\nthrive. You are looking for your way into a new story, meanwhile new stories are growing all
\naround you. You are, as the old ones said, merely a blade of grass among many. And also, as
\nsingular as the first crocus opening, glittered with snow. You plant seeds in the window, tender
\nas with any babies.
\nThough there is so much now you do not want to see growing, you still want this.<\/p>\n
March 2020<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
A Poem by Adrie Rose…<\/p>\n