By Kimi Hardesty
I am not monolithic. Plurality resides in my blood and in my
bones. The seeds are several in number. One seedling pushes the
hardest of all while others wither. She is the seed which grows,
pressing, pushing, pulsing, dancing her way through boulders and
dirt, rubbing up against cold, hard stone, until one day, only good
soil surrounds her. And then she, who is me, comes forth, a tiny
seed now a bud who but by her strength rises above, faces the sun.