a poem

We're connected to the world

In the way that our tears

Are made of salt water. And

When we cry – we cry pieces of the ocean.

We're connected to the world

In the way that

our lungs are made of

tree roots and branches. And

when we exhale

we pollinate that world

with our souls and hearts and beauty.

We're connected to the world

In the way that

The place it's oxygen goes when it

Gets sucked into our bodies

Is right into our core –

The very shelf that

Holds our soul.

We're connected to the world

In the way that

We leave footprints in the mud. And

the way those footprints create

Maps of each of our lives

Forever pounded into the earth.

We're connected to the world

In the way that

When it spins

We don't get dizzy.

And as the earth rotates

On it's invisible axis,

So do we.

And the only true way to tell

How old we really are

Is to cut us in half

And count the rings on our stumps.

Or the black dots on our little red backs.

Or to add 7 years to every 1 year.

And when we die,

I like to think that if you

Opened us up

You'd find the most

perfect,

rare,

round,

beautiful,

Pearl.

[The one the earth planted deep inside of us when we were born.]