Identity
Identity
I found a seedling in my soul
I realized I have not tended to,
She waits for me,
So patiently, gently,
As if to say
“I’m ready to bloom when you are.”
She needs sunlight, she needs the front window of my soul,
The bay window, the one that gets the morning air.
She needs soil,
She needs my pen to paper, my slow thoughts,
My effort.
She whispers her dreams,
To stand tall, to grow into a fiery fern,
To give shade to all else,
To shelter the garden of my soul.
I tell her
“Be still.”
I tell her I see her,
I finally call her by name,
Tell her she will grow.
Beloved,
“Identity.”
Copyright © Rachel Swart | Year Posted 2017
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