posted on: Thursday December 3, 2015
by Branan Durbin ’16
Some people ascend to where they belong
with elegance, power surging
through each bit of their body.
I am not that girl.
this girl with dirt under her fingernails
and her frizzy hair in knots,
I’m the girl who drops the marigold she planted at 16
against the tiled floor,
terra-cotta and dirt going everywhere.
I’m the girl who, after cursing and kneeling
with the pieces of clay cutting her jeans,
picks up the botanical bursts of flame
cradling them, mourning them,
but finally seeing their source for what it is:
a tangled, mangled heap
of paper-thin roots.
I’m the girl who leaves soil on the kitchen floor
and pieces of flowerpot under the refrigerator,
but maybe, just maybe,
I’m also the girl who can find hope
in this hidden tangle where weakness meets confusion
and yet still is the vessel for grace.