Does it ever shock you
to see grass sprout forth from the cement
in the abandoned parking lot across the street?
The investors paved the field and erected their shops
in a hurry. Hoping against hope that their
location, location, location
was the right one.
Maybe they should have asked the grass seed,
that floated on the wind
and landed in the cracks,
An acorn settled in a cemetery once,
nestling into the freshly turned dirt of
someone's dearly beloved. The seasons passed
each other by, and the acorn remained unimpressive
in the eyes of the grief stricken that
collected in ebbs and flows
with annual offerings
of freshly cut flowers.
Decades finally accrued and a visitor looked up
to see the acorn's leaves offering a determined shade
to the gravesites on the cemetery's edge.
She followed its limbs backward, hoping to rest at the base,
only to find that the tangled roots and lowest branches
had split the gravestone of its birthplace
clear in half.
The wind through the leaves
is shouting as loudly as it possibly can:
“Location, Location, Location.”
Cover image by Ashim D'Silva
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