growing in cracks

by Cat Jones

Finding hard places
Blindly
Feeling around on hands and knees
For the crumbled edges
For the cracks
For the places things can grow.

Soft smell and gentle damp
Of secret earth
Hidden
Knowing
Waiting.

Soft dark earth
Hidden beneath cold, jagged concrete
And rusted metal
Reaching out of broken cracks,
Plant the last seeds here.

There is nothing else to do.

Reach the last thin tendril down into the earth here.
Faith will help,
Or it won’t,
But there is nothing left to do.
Feel for the cracks
And plant the last seeds here.

There is nothing else to do.

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