a leaf on life

vine work is hard,
because i’m not a vine.
so i, the small simple leaf,
cling with all my stem and spine,
every fiber i can muster.
little do i know -
or my organic insides often forget -
that the rigid clinging,
makes for brittle snaps
once the wind and storms crop up.

so desperately abiding,
the season is dry enough
that one break means quick to wither.
yet the thirst so deep,
that once grafted again,
i’m restored of life and color.

again i’m reminded
this works better when i let go,
turn and spread wide,
towards the light.
my only job to soak and reflect.
the wind an animating force,
now no longer the threat.
the seasons to be danced with,
there’s peace it cannot upset.

for i’m finding
it’s not me holding on,
but i’m being held by the vine.
for i’m finding
its not me to search
and scour for nutrients,
i’m being fed by deeper roots.

curling up and clinging
may be appropriate for the storms,
and the depths of the night.
but the invitation of the day -
to be melted again
into gentle pliability,
blinded by the light.

tracing my shape, size, and color,
next to the leaf on my left and right,
tempting in this proximity.
a different kind of withering
induced by a narrowing
of my perceived window of welcome,
or questioning my spot on the branch.

but i’m finding
it’s not me to be thee,
there’s a spot and role for this leaf,
where this vine is perfectly viable,
i’m finding a sweet notch to breathe.

abiding seems to be more of a welcome,
less a burdensome to-do.
remaining perhaps something received,
more than simply muscled.
it seems the vine delights to nourish me,
loves the idea of my flourishing.

and even still,
when i forget
how to do this leaf stuff well,
what a relief,
i find the vine holding me still,
and once again exhale,
yes indeed, all is well.