I have not vanished, nor been “disappeared.”
Buried, briefly; blanketed in the warm earth,
I am not dead. I have dreamed of dead things;
I am not one of them. They sustain me,
Push me, whispering, “Rise. Awake.”
Sunlight touches, warms me, draws me up,
Solitude, the exhalation of a pent-up breath,
Released to birdsong, squirrel-scoldings,
And the breezy buzz of honeybees
In clover. Purple sage, pink lavender —
Old, lazy bones clatter —
But I am not dead. Not yet. I open
My lips, drink deep of the rain.
Remembering the intoxicating scent
Of petrichor in summer, I know…
It won’t be long. Next spring,
Or maybe the one after,
I will not stretch up to grasp
Sunshine in a hand that’s rain-slicked,
Covered in dirt.
I will be that thing that whispers
Softly, gently, in your ear: “Awake. Arise!”
Holly Jahangiri is the author of Trockle; A Puppy, Not a Guppy; and A New Leaf for Lyle. She draws inspiration from her family, from her own childhood adventures (some of which only happened in her overactive imagination), and from readers both young and young at heart. She lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband, J.J., whose love and encouragement make writing books twice the fun.
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