The seeds of my wound
surprise me daily
I never know what will take root
or what will blow away in the wind
or drown in a downpour.

It’s as if the seeds are like
the mystery gifts I’m told
I ordered but don’t recall
and can’t find the receipt.

There are scars
but I much prefer flowers.
Colorful bouquets please and thank you.
Fields and parkways
gardens and more.
tended or not,
it does not matter.

All that matters
is that I take notice.