Heritage by Anita Parmar

3 July 2013

Get Published on Female First

I was a bulb that took root.

I could feel them nibble and feed

as my limbs extended,

so I lifted myself into a new space

where the weather beat and blew my stems.

I flowered buds anyway,

reaching for eastern rays.

There were so many clouds

I climbed down and rolled away

From my petal bed,

And grew new arms and legs

And a head.

I walked to a sheltered place

the inhabitants called a school.

Knowledge became my favourite feast

and love of it

fulfilled my needs.

Then a day after many years,

I found the bed again,

empty and sun kissed.

I dug the plant from the dirt

And cleansed and dried it

And pressed it

between two sheets of glass,

to use as an odd bookmark,

To remind me

of what I used to be

and how I'd somehow known

it wasn't me,

yet still be grateful for the mulch