The seed remembers
The seed, the stem, the water in each cell,
the chemical magic of light turning to chlorophyll.
The seed remembers all of this in its tight knot of DNA,
in its dreaming as the rain drops trickle into its core.

We remember in our atoms that we are light and love.
We know this in our essence, our smell, our pudgy flesh and our graying hair.
We remember in the song that lives in us, even when we can’t hear the words.
The seed of Life remembers how to laugh, how to crow,
how to stretch upward yawning open to the sky
to the stars which sing their lullabies to us to keep us hoping and guide our direction
our compass points in the dark.

The seed remembers how, with help from water,
to break open the husk when the time is right.
To form new fingers and arms, lifting up through the soil, to what is life,
to the Holy Yes calling us ever upward to breath.

The seed remembers its grandmothers and the vast continents of green.
The seed remembers the songs of the ancient ones
and carves them into a secret place
for the next thousand generations of seeds, of life, of sustenance.

The seed remembers how to take root in rocky soil,
even in the bombed out, scorched out and scarred bits of earth.
The seed remembers, singing:
“Life, Life! Come back to us. Live here. Bloom. Sustain the children. Feed them.”

The seed remembers how to survive in deep winter freezes and deserts of baked earth,
in cracked, clay fissures with golden spires of light reaching down to illuminate the dark.

The seed remembers how to restore a broken world,
To replenish what was lost with vast blankets of wheat, corn, and sunflowers.