By Caroline Hesby, TIWP Student

all humans tread on Earth’s floor ready to give 
or ready to take but
her soft hand leaves seeds in her footsteps
and the wild grass grows in her path.

When the world sprouted its first buds,
it placed an oak sapling in her bed,
and when she woke she tucked it into the pillowy soil.
She soaked it with spring water and love
while the stems turned to branches
and the sun coated her shoulders while she nurtured life.

They speak of soul ties but rarely notice the lifeline
that grows down from the woman’s heart
and into the roots of each sprout.
The rain comes down with hints of her blood
and the breeze rustles leaves with hints of her breath. 

She does not belong to the Earth but the Earth is her…
she heals and she nurtures and she creates life.
She’s the beating heart at the fiery core
and the soothing ripple of the sea’s surface. 

Bodies infest now, between rock structures and chemical air,
but the willows still sway when she passes
and the sun still greets her in a blazing gratitude.

She’s hidden under cloth and fear now,
tucked in the pockets of her descendents’ souls,
showing face in each piece of selfless love or divine landscape.

When a girl lays on the soft green fields or rests upon the river rocks,
she hums a melody of inimitable sweetness,
the one she hummed while she waited for that first little oak to grow.