What if you also are the son of G-D
You, Her child
You too, Their daughter,
Beloved
What if you also must die
Fall apart
Come undone
What if this too, Beloved
Must hurt like Hell
What if you also must allow this
Like the wildflower trampled by hooves
Scattered remains anointed
By its own inherently Holy oil
Seeping into the earth
Crushed
We say the flower is dead
Almost with disgust
Because we worship youth
And fear death
Meanwhile Holy wind
Carries the resilient seeds of her joy
Compassion and love
Which land in mysterious places
While her body nourishes the
Ground where she lay
What if you also will appear again
Transformed
Though today in the throes of death
Our wildflower was dismembered
But fed the soil which gave birth to blades of grass
Becoming shelter
A safe space for the burgeoning life of a new generation
Incubated and sustained from the death of
The trampled one
What if this wasn’t the first time
What if it’s not the last
Would you still choose to live
Would you bless the darkness of your earthen tomb
Bless the food you discover underground
Would you receive and drink
From unseen skies
Would you stretch
Would you reach
Would you break
Through ceilings
And grow towards whatever feels
Warm
Wherever there’s light
Jaclyn Edds Konczal | April 2022