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It is different, and also it is the same

A Poem by Adrie Rose

 

It is different, and also it is the same. In the morning, the children wake you because they are
hungry. In the morning, you walk towards the river and text friends until you find someone else
awake, another human voice to walk with you, though not beside you. Spring keeps coming, it is
solace and also heartbreak to see buds open. You order more seeds and more seeds, move
the kitchen table to the window and clear everything else away so that what can still grow, will
thrive. You are looking for your way into a new story, meanwhile new stories are growing all
around you. You are, as the old ones said, merely a blade of grass among many. And also, as
singular as the first crocus opening, glittered with snow. You plant seeds in the window, tender
as with any babies.
Though there is so much now you do not want to see growing, you still want this.

March 2020

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