I Will Always Be a Seed

My calloused black skin got shoved in the soil by a white mans soiled thumb Trying to make his mortgage off me Buried I found friends Barely breathing But we sang. One friend was named Hosanna. We gathered ourselves together in song. Mother Earth appeared in the darkness. She pushed us together, further, until our sprouting threads joined hands in prayer singing,”Hosanna in the highest.” And the farmer prayed while he and his children tamped us down in the dark wet black soil. But the choir was loud that day. Singing, “hail thee festival day” And as we grouped, my new friends found the ground and the sun And bloomed a watermelon That plopped itself, all greened up, Onto the farmers knees. And he hugged all of us. The green, the red, the white, and The black. Later, there was a picnic and the farmer kissed his wife. And she spit me out back onto the soil. I will always be a seed.