Grafted

by Suzanna Gillette

GRAFTED

Green shoots bursting through the earth,

met by blinding sunshine,

full of life, we had our worth.

Grow and blossom; we’ll do fine.

Tall, thick bushes flowering now—

full of life! They tout

boasting (briefly) blooming boughs;

our lot was all sold out

except for me, left behind.

I never grew like them,

world scoffed; I was defined

sad, forgotten, dried-out stem,

nearly trampled back to dust,

but a gardener reached down,

watered gently, growing trust,

breathing life on ashy brown.

As I drank of water and light,

he turned on a nearby vine,

cut it off (I wince—the sight),

returned to me with food to dine.

Then his hand for me turned harsh;

shears clip buds off fragile frame.

I cried out, dried out, was parched,

facing deserved fires of shame.

But then he took me up again,

grafted on that vine he speared.

It welcomed me despite the pain;

it told me it had volunteered.

In time and in the vine, I grew,

tended to by watchful gardener.

Shriveled shoot the world once knew.

I live; that me is no longer.

Green shoots bursting through the dirt;

what you will meet, I do not know.

But heed the gardener, though it hurts;

his vine is life to those brought low.

SUZANNA GILLETTE

Suzanna Gillette is a detail-oriented writer with an eye for design and a heart for the Lord. She has a bachelor's in writing from Olivet Nazarene University and has dreamed wistfully of becoming an author since third grade. Hailing from the Prairie State, she loves spending time with her people and pup, playing with and beholding creativity, and finding fellow nerds.

You can read more on her website: https://pawsfly.wixsite.com/suzanna-works.