Innocence by linda hogan

There is nothing more innocent
than the still-unformed creature I find beneath soil,
neither of us knowing what it will become
in the abundance of the planet.
It makes a living only by remaining still
in its niche.
One day it may struggle out of its tender
pearl of blind skin
with a wing or with vision
leaving behind the transparent.

I cover it again, keep laboring,
hands in earth, myself a singular body.
Watching things grow,
wondering how
a cut blade of grass knows
how to turn sharp again at the end.

This same growing must be myself,
not aware yet of what I will become
in my own fullness
inside this simple flesh.

• Write a poem beginning with the line, “There is nothing more innocent…” Allow your imagination to take you where it will.

• Pay attention to something growing—a plant in pot, a flower in the garden, a tuft of grass in the field after the rain. How does this growth, also reflect the same growing that is happening within you. Journal your reflections.

• Begin a piece, prose or poetry, with the words, “One day it may struggle out…” As you write, reflect on what is struggling to emerge out of you.