Plowed

Written By Teninla

If this land is not my own

then show me where to go God of Hagar

Each morning

new melodies in my throat and

steadied hands, I

pour water on yesterday's seeds

sprinkle fertilizer

till the soil while my bones are weary

trepidation tingling in my chest.

 

Tomorrow something new comes

stomps the ground I toiled

with splintered palms

steals the ripening fruit

leaves the weeds behind

declares my harvest null.

When can I rest my knuckles?

Where shall I grow my tender dreams?

 
Teninla

I am a Nigerian-American writer, raised in Lagos then Los Angeles and currently living in the Pacific Northwest. I love deep connections, hot water with lemon, and the quiet hum of everyday life. I notice moments most people miss and create worlds around them. I am always searching for music and words that shift my heart and feet. Some days, I practice yoga, some days I use my business school degree, most days- I’m just trying my best to be human.

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