inside a quiet meditation of an Easter afternoon
she watches her hand cradle
well-sifted loam

the fall of dark matter into her lap triggers ancient thought

on my thighs lies the teeth of the ocelot
the sands from blue grotto
a minute man's big toe

she picks up a yogurt cup and cuts an escape
for the runoff water meant for other space

as she fills the cup from the earth between her legs
she has a modern thought

i wonder if I've paid a lot
to watch this seed turn into sprout, and
then, into a melon

she holds the seed up and watches
the sunshine limn its edge

before the tip of her dirty fingernail slides the smooth seed into its dark home…
she has a timeless thought

i wonder who decided the seed should sprout…

i wonder if it was a unanimous vote

Naomi Marshall