From Roots To Fruit


From Root To Fruit

I do not recall your Genesis
Your deeply rooted symbolism
In this family
No, only that you matter, greatly

Great big
From stem to stern
Every piece of you
From purple bursts of bulbous fruit
To elephant ears in forest green
To your strength
Dug deep
Held tight
An anchor
Buried well below the nutrient-rich surface soil
Your roots
Arms, limbs long and strong and lean
Bent, contorted
We demand you bend and serve

Oh how you nourish us
We wait on you
Ever hungry for what you give
Season in and season out
Counting on you to bear more
Fruit, sea of reds and pinks
Skin of royal plum
You erupt with life-giving
Sweetness, dripping, seeded honey
Tethered between you and us

We long for you to ripen
Faster, faster
Impatience will not
Spur you on

I do not recall your Genesis
Perhaps because I was too young
A child
And you were there
Before my birth
In the beginning

Dreaming of how you would provide
Different, for each one of us

Releasing ripened fruit
Born while hiding

Behind those elephant ears
Big enough to cover the sins of man

We shall never forget
What you mean

A family deeply in love, are we
With you, we adore you

Beautiful Fig Tree



Joining Laura Boggess for #playdateswithGod

This poem is written for and dedicated to my father on the ocassion of his 77th Birthday. Happy Birthday Daddy.
Thank you for always encouraging me and my poetry.

When You Speak

Emily Wierenga asked me to join her Imperfect Prose team late in 2012. Honored, humbled I responded with an excited “yes”. Today is my first time leading off the Imperfect Prose community. I chose the prompt, encouragement. And then I struggled  to write. The fog settled in and the walls came up.

 But before you go there …

 So, I emailed Holly, a member of the Imperfect Prose team of writers and asked for prayer. Later I gave Emily glimpses into my wrestling spirit.

Immediately this word became real. It wore flesh and bones and had a heart.

The possibility held in the word encouragement became manifested through their actions, their very words.

It seemed I couldn’t draw from the well on my own. They undergirded and strengthened me.

But the process I went through of fog  and uncertainty were  necessary for working out true understanding.

There is a mystery in why. But on the other side it felt needed.  The struggle strengthened.

In the middle of my struggle, a bird flew into the glass door through which I see the world while I write.  Injured and broken, lying on my porch, I felt viscerally, the injury along with him.

He couldn’t fly. I couldn’t help.  He lay wounded. I ached.

There was so much imagery in this crippled bird for my soul to soak in. I left for a bit and when I returned he was gone. There were no signs of death, no stray feathers. My heart hopes there was recovery for him.

I choose to think he flew away.

And I think of  how encouragement is poured out. Where it starts and stops. What transpires in our struggle, in the times when we feel on our backs in defeat. And yet the Saints intercede and pray.

And speak words of encouragement into our souls.

And we too can fly again.

Please join me as we explore encouragement.  See you at Em’s.