the morning having grown overnight
you woke to find the sky white for harvest.
the mirror told you that you had shed
your seedcases too, and everything your mother
ever warned you about beginning with “one day,”
is suddenly overripe. you care about
pricetags and clocks and scales,
(but you can wake up when you want to
and leave the house without a coat.)
you have a ring on your finger and a paycheck
in the mail. you, having grown overnight,
realizing roots are just as vital
as the heights.