The Seed

I want to be the maple seed

Softly propelling in the breeze

Shaded by broad green leaves

Shielded from the rain.


From the branch I flit

My body goes from green to brown—

Crisp old parchment—

Until the day I let go


And spin

and spin,

The wind carrying me

in flight.

Until I land on an old

Cracked sidewalk,

Raised by the ridges of the roots,

Its jagged blocks cushioned by the grass.


I want to rest there,

My body, though old, trembles with possibility

As I am found by young hands

That lift me up,

fling me to the sky,

Toward the yellow sun

For me to spin




Photo via






This is a poem I wrote last summer in response to a prompt about desire.




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