In Matthew 13, Jesus tells a parable, titled in some translations The Parable of the Sower, about seed that is planted in various places—on the path where birds eat it, on shallow, rocky soil where it starts to grow but dies when the hot sun beats down on it because it has no roots, among thorns which choke it, and in good soil where it flourished and produces a crop.
In this poem I imagine a child (is she me?) wondering about those of us whose soil is rocky but who find a way to grow anyway—and even thrive. I imagine the parable from our perspective—the parable of the sown, not the sower. It is an honest question, but also defiant. After all, the seed does not choose where it is planted. All we can do is make the best with what we are given. Of course if we had better soil it would be easier to thrive. But we’re doing it anyway. We’re doing it anyway. Listen to *our* word and understand it. Listen to *our* parable.
from my new poetry collection, Open Things