The Thread That Roots

I am not here to rise too soon.
I am the tremble before the bloom.
A thread of gold pulled through my chest,
Now seeks the cave where I may rest.

My womb is soil, not yet a seed,
She bleeds to teach me how to receive.
Not to rush the bloom or name the form,
But to hold the heat, the ache, the storm.

Let Earth remember through my hips,
Let silence speak between my lips.
This thread does not demand or prove,
It hums a truth that asks me… move.

Not fast, not far, but down and in,
To the place where all new life begins.
So here I kneel. So here I vow:
I choose to root.
I choose her now.