Grub

After a full year—now a bit more—of putting up with this nonsense that the breath of my fellow humans is something I should feel profoundly fearful of (even my own, lest a speck of demon dust ride my breath and kill a granny in some nursing home somewhere), I was tasked to write a poem about the year.

In that year, I have been transformed, so there is much to say. Please do not mistake this very short poem for something that was frivolously produced. I have spent a month now trying to write it. The concept I wanted to express both drove me and eluded me.

Last night I dreamed this poem. It took very little from me to appear in words this morning. Writing this introduction is taking me far longer.

The only truth there is, is extremely simple. Everything else is decoration.

Grub

no flaws need attention
no work needs be done
no teaching can better
the knowledge of sun
kissed skin sun
nourished body sun
knowing heart

nature’s roar resounds
in the pluck of a dandelion leaf
pick one with love and see for yourself

emerge, thou grub,
renewed