The Offering Poem by Suzanne Hayasaki

I am a laurel branch in the hands of a fair maiden.
I am a once-bitten apple in the hands of the first woman.
I am a dove in the hands of a pre-pubescent girl.
I am a salve in the hands of a wizened medicine woman.
I am a smile on the face of a stranger.

I myself have no meaning, no intention.
Wind me into a wreath and I become a symbol of triumph.
Wind a snake around me and I become a symbol of the fall.
Release me into the air and I am a symbol of peace.
Rub me into your skin and I am a symbol of healing.
Return me and I am a symbol of friendship.

How will you receive me?
Will you place me on your brow and walk proudly through the crowds
A soon-to-be-Caesar, parading in celebration of your latest conquest,
Your captors chained and displayed along with the booty you offer Rome?
Will you add a second bite to the pristine skin of the apple,
Acknowledging your desire to journey into knowing,
Even if it means eternal exile from the comfort zone of the home you have always known?
Will you follow my flight, sending me on with a prayer,
Firm in your faith that I will return, branch in beak,
The first evidence of a new world waiting to be founded?
Will you relax as my biting warmth works its way deep into your flesh,
Helping to heal old wounds?

Or will you reject me completely?
Afraid of the mantle of leadership?
Reluctant to leave behind the effortless existence of Eden?
Empty of hope and vision for a world created by all souls for all souls?
Preferring to nurse your wounds along with your grudges and your doubts
Alone?

Look me in the eye as you take me in your hands.
We may never have met, but I am no stranger.
Part your lips.
Show me your teeth in that winning grin of yours.

Then kiss me, damn it!
That is all the answer I need!