author’s note:

Three or four lines remain of the poem as originally written.

Maybe I was searching for the statue in the stone.

Or maybe I just don’t know when to give up.
 

DOCUMENT

What a mess of decay
built up this rag quilt–
this cell that conspires
to warm me,
that threatens to
trick this winter seed
into bursting–

I can not refuse
without losing
who I am.

So I’ve decided:
I am ready–though afraid
of destruction–
                 I am ready, ready–
though held dormant–ready

but forced to wait–

I am ready,  yet somehow
not.

Yes, I can still function
locked inside
my one-cell organism–

but how can I satisfy
my desire to help?

If I can’t break the ground
that weighs on my head
I can’t tell you
how to rise–my voice
is buried.

But I can still help–work with me.

Allow my hard surface
to be the mirror reflecting
your light and dark shadow.

And if you see a broken image
just remember: only the shell
has fractured–

and if you see blood from the fractures
remember:
we’re putting down roots, pushing
up shoots–

and if you see turbulence roiling
beneath the surface,
remember:
dark movement comes
before lightning erupts.

And if you see green leaves
in your eyes
remember:
I always promised
we’d break free someday.

© 2007, Michael R. Patton

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