You did not know what you could do
I wrote “The Soil” in response to a sermon series by my brilliant friend Jessie Marcus in which she explored the parable of the sower in relation to the history of the Evangelical church in America. I couldn’t stop thinking about the dynamics at play between the faceless societal forces that cause so much harm and the relentless spark of agency within every individual. This poem is what came of it.
THE SOIL
You did not know what you could do.
No one knew.
Not back then.
Then they arrived at the edge of the field
with their promises and certainties.
You never saw their faces,
only their machines.
The plows pulled you down.
Sharp tills sliced long trenches.
The day the tractors scattered seed
you thought you caught a glimpse of hope
and imagined yourself adorned in greens.
Then the planes flew over
and covered you in a hazy stench.
For the good of the growth, they said.
For the love of the yield.
Years passed. You changed.
Something grew out of you
that you did not recognize.
But they said this is you,
this is what you were made for.
Reaped for the greater good.
You came to believe this.
The years brought rust to the roots.
Other years, sun-scorched stalks.
What’s wrong with you? they said.
The rootworms and beetles
nested around you.
The rivers overflowed
and drowned you.
Why are you failing us?
Look what you’ve done.
At last, the fires
and the final machines
set you ablaze
then left you behind.
You are spent.
Their words ring out
as if they are now your own.
You are so hard, so lifeless.
Look what you’ve done.
You do not know what you can do.
Not now.
I take you in my hands.
I lift you up
just to remember what you are made of:
Nothing other than the dust.
Nothing other than the dust
that birthed a billion suns,
split cells, captured light,
caught breath,
strained through dark waters
toward new shores.
Split. Captured. Caught. Strained. Birthed.
Remember, you did all this and more.
They never knew what was in you,
and even if they did
they would have denied it.
They will never admit
to the riches within you.
I take you in my hands.
I catch glimpses of a universe.
I wish you could see it.
So much more life
than you can even imagine.
I hold you now.
I exhale.
I smile.
Imagine that.
Peace and grace,
Andrew
P.S. Thanks to everyone who has already bought a copy of The Thread, and to the folks who came out last night to celebrate the book release. You can still purchase the book by clicking below!