He picked a flower, gently pulling every petal out
and then a single seed from somewhere in the middle
and he held it there between a finger and his thumb.
It was a special flower, and a special seed, unlike
the sort we see in gardens or arrangements at the
florist shop. He whispered, “It is time to choose a family.”
But deep inside the tiny seed the living thing it held
was smart enough to know it wasn’t smart enough at all.
“What’s that? He laughed. “You’d rather not?
You’d rather that I chose instead? Alright,” he mused.
“Alright. Let’s see. You’re stubborn and I see your strengths,
but there is weakness there as well. You must be nurtured
carefully. I think you’ll be a second child, with parents who’ve
had practice . You will learn, from them, the power of commitment,
from your sister, bravery, and from the brother you will lose
a loyalty and love for what you cannot understand.
There will be other pain along the way, my discipline,
the way I prune and propagate my garden even here.
At other times the pain will come because there’s pain
released that I can only trust with but a few who will not
turn it inward, planting bitter seeds to water with their tears.
You’ll know neglect and disappointment, and you’ll wonder
who you are and why such things are happening and now and then
you’ll wonder if you should have chosen for yourself.
Loss and loneliness will be companions, but however long
they overstay their welcome, know this: the gifts they bring
were purchased at great price, and are as necessary to your
training there as has the rain been here. Your art, your heart,
your very body, and your soul are a piece of music,
but not every ear will like its tone,
and it will take a long, long time before the melody
I wrote a century ago and placed within you will unfold and
finds its truest voice. But little seed,” he said, “I promise this:
When finally you sing the song I give you now, you’ll start out
with a solo, high and hopeful, heavy with a sadness and a passion,
but it won’t be long (or so it seems to me, as I count time)
there will be harmony, The family that I choose for you,
the happenstances all throughout, the broken bones and dreams,
each triumph or defeat, each grain of knowledge you possess
is all a part, the bass line, and the tenor. Here I write fortissimo,
a jarring dissonance resolving with a pause or change of rhythm,
and the piece is difficult but powerful, demanding every ounce of breath
and just as you are sure your voice can never reach the highest note,
a harmony will rise beneath your failing volume, sudden<
strengthening, entwining to perfection to complete
the song of joy I will compose ... now ... just for you.”
And raising up his hand into a sudden breeze, he spread his<
fingers and the seed was gone. He closed his eyes to listen.
There it was. So faint. The music had begun.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2017
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2017
