A Burgeoning
Mother, cell of my cells – heart, core, nerve.
My exceptional son; my male nucleus.
Does immortality exist?
Yes, beyond your life span.
I have a secret that might cause me to fall.
What is this remarkable development?
As one matures, the complexities of love unfold
As rain on blossoms reveal their nature.
Yes, but perennials are predictable.
Except those deprived of nutrients.
My climate has been optimal, but my growth stunted.
Like an egg sloughed from the womb?
Though I look like an oak, inside I am a sycamore.
Shhh, sweet boy, your branches are gnarled. Rest.
Your cuttings can no longer shape me.
Plant yourself in my bosom, and I will keep you safe.
I love another now. His soil feeds me. He is like no other.
Your confessions are tortuous. Stop. I can make you grow.
Spring has come to my soul, mother.
Immortality will have to wait.