Green Thumb Poem by Imaanah Saleem

A damaged seed just below the surface of the earth,
Never to be anything other than what it was when it was first placed there,
Of this I am certain,
Still I find myself treating it as though things could somehow be different,

Perhaps they could,
Perhaps the space, where the seed lies, bares some sort of hope,
Why else would I be holding on?

My hands linger in the area,
Pressing the surface as if intending to sink them through that, which blocks the way to the jewel,

I see only blue,
A whirl of it in my head,
The shade bright like the sea, where treasures rest safe within the chest,

The thought is valuable,
At least I believe it to be so,
Of the other, there are no signs to even hint at the idea that the feeling could be mutual,
We are just friends, he and I,
Nothing more,

In his company, my hands fall to my sides,
All that I held onto becomes lost in the atmosphere,
I become a new girl then,
One who's fully aware of our status, and frets not over what is, or what could be,

Above sea level, conditions are well understood,
I know it's for the best,
Besides, it is enough to hear his voice,
To have him near me at a standstill or even a walk down some hall,
Feeling his embrace…

The influence,
For a long time our closeness never exceeded more than a few inches apart,
Then one day—
For reasons unknown to me—
I was privileged to a hug,
Since then, I've allowed myself to play on the thought of a tighter bond,

The damaged seed,
Roots sprout beneath the surface,
I know by the movement I feel on my palms,
The trickle of dirt.