I sprang from the imagination of the Divine,
from a poem about life expressing yet unwritten,
an ode to joy.
I’m from the frog pond
where quick reflexes were developed
and curiosity and laughter reigned.
I’m from lakes thick with cedar pollen in summer
and frozen skating-solid in winter.
I’m from cells and blood, light and shadow,
ova and sperm, sinew and bone,
passion and a Pope’s decree against birth control.
I’m from a watery haven and a bottle of olive oil.
I’m from five siblings and family gatherings
from wiffle ball in the streets until dark
on a summer’s night
alive with foul language and foul balls.
I’m from mosquitos and mud,
primal and running wild.
I’m from empathy and compassion.
I’m from tears and oceans
both springing from a place too deep to see the bottom of.
I’m from the eagle’s flight,
a feather drifting from above
gently wafting on a breeze.
Each new day I spring from the blank page,
another ode waiting to be written,
whole in my imperfection.
A messy, exuberant expression of
the heart of God