Earth

a sonnet

I thought I will continue to devote a sonnet to the elements after writing on fire the last time. Skimming through some old diary entries and Mary Oliver’s poems reminded me of the loveliness of trees, and how they have rescued me when the world became too electric and I needed to ground all the excess charge.

Being grounded, rooted, still, are quintessential telluric qualities, and so I took trees to be the symbol to represent Earth.

Photo by Bruce Kee on Unsplash

A sonnet : earth

I sit in the lap of this giant tree,
Roots of amoebas made of stone and grit -
braided across others like lovers’ limbs. 
But what’s the tree’s name? Genus or species? 

The tree doesn’t care that I don’t know this.
I am grateful for this absolution -
to not live in fear that I may offend.
It just is - it is it by existing. 

Sitting by its roots, I rooted myself.
It asks nothing of me, but tells me this -  
only because I requested it to -
a blessing of calm, I become the earth.

Icon of patience, most loyal of friends.
It waits for me to be myself again.