Poetry 130: New Growth

New Growth

A piece of me is 

dying. 

I hope it is an

unnecessary limb.

A dead branch. 

A brown leaf.

Something now

obsolete. 

Why then,

does it pain 

me so?

The severing. 

The loss. 

Becoming

untethered from 

that which 

no longer
serves me. 

I carry a lump

at the back 

of my throat;

feeling bereaved

for what was 

my core-

for that 

which felt so 

essential just 

yesterday. 

Change is inevitable. 

Transformation is

radical. 

Will I dare 

to be radical?

Or will I wither

like Langston’s

raisin 

in the sun?

I carry sympathy 

in my heart

for the 

infant green growth 

pushing through

the earth outside 

my door. 

How hard

it can be

to be born.

-Me