Just roots, just roots, just roots, so far–September to March–you were all just roots.
Some days, I saw roots and calmly forged forward. Some days, I saw nothing and counted the minutes till you walked out.
Like a slap in my face, I began teaching 6th grade; certain, I wouldn’t, I couldn’t do you justice.
But each day, each week, each month, you grew
Roots of life; I examined skeptical.
In a circle, we began, analyzing Malala’s purpose.
I sat back and listened as you eloquently shared about oppression and inequality, even quoting Socrates himself–in the midst of Socratic Seminar.
I couldn’t resist; I smiled straight through, typing away, joting your thoughts to examine much later
Just roots, just roots, just roots, you were—all Autumn, all winter, for oh so long.
Then bam, out of no where, spring has sprung. It happened like a slap, a slap to my face!
Today at 11am; I saw you sprout.
Sometimes baby leaves aren’t on trees.