The Uprooting

Poem Genesis Prompt

Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

Bang!

First thought in my head,
“I’m dead.”
Second thought
“If I’m dead, would I be having this thought?”

I open my eyes, look outside,
all was green that should have been blue,
giant oak tree, uprooted. . .
What if the oak chose to land two feet to the left?
Miracle, I am still alive,
rooted, breathing.

Some suppose genesis was a bang —
the fire and thrust
and power
of galaxies compressed in a space
smaller than the palm of my hand
bursting, propelling outward like lightning. . .
Bespectacled scientists and theologians love to speculate,
but I think
the truest miracle is not the beginning, rather
the special something that happened between
the beginning and the now,
the magic pathways that permits my brain can think,
I think, therefore I am. . .
evolution or intelligent design
or somewhere in between. . .
It is a miracle, I am sentient,
whether my genesis is
rooted in dust or stardust