by Miriam

Cut Grass

Sometimes I’m like green grass
Growing millimeters
At a time.
But just as I reach the heights,
There comes the lawnmower–
Loud, menacing.
In straight, orderly rows
I’m shorn,
Hot metal spewing.

What would it be like to let me grow?
Reaching heavenward
Until the spikes tip over
Heavy-laden with seed,
Then fading to yellow–
Stalks drying to drop new life
In wild and tangled beauty.

Will I ever know what could be
If the mower keeps on cutting me down
To keep me in the bounds that man has set?

Miriam is a lover of the ocean, meditation music, birds, and blue skies, who has lived long enough to see the hand of both Mother and Father in all of those things, and who, despite her frustration with living in a telestial world, knows enough strong and loving men and women to know there is hope for Zion.