Seeds

Caroline McCarthy '22

Seeds

The seeds sit

Shallow in the dirt, in a pot

That belonged to my uncle. From

Here they will sprout, bringing their

New life to the earth.

The pot rests, hard

against the stone with newfound divots, dug

Across the soil made fresh, before the rain.

Stolen by some damn bird with its bleak,

Brown feathers, leeching

That new life.

Drawing from it the strength for

Its own breath, stripping the seed’s sensitive power.

The question bubbles in the emptiness of the pot,

What, in truth, can new life sweetly bring

When its life impedes the start of spring?

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