To the seed of a Flame Tree,

dropped long ago from the shaker-pods of the giant that overlooks the dry West African savannah; those towering, spreading branches that birth lace-like leaves, flame flowers, and shakers browning, opening, discarding seeds onto the earth…

Seeds heavy with memory

dropped onto the arid soil where my desperate fingers found them. I caressed each seed, sliding them against my fingertips. I enclosed them deep in my palm, begging time to stand still, and then released them to the clink of a glass bottle

and carried them over oceans.

You seeds lay in quiet slumber within my bottle now, this tiny glass vial, your forever-dwelling. Today I emptied you into my hand, begging you to stay awhile longer…stay, just as you are, for you carry so much of my life encased within the smoothness of your hard, striped shell…so much kept so safe in one small seed,

a desperate piece of home carried over oceans in a bottle.

I once had dreams of planting you somewhere; someplace I might stay, might stop and submerge my roots while you submerge yours,

Deep in the soil, rest,

off of the road for awhile…Somewhere to build a new home and take you from your bottle and make you grow and make you feed off the land, for I have tired of holding you, of merely looking at you, of carrying you

as if I could have possibly captured and encased my life and my dreams and all of my memories within your tiny womb…

But you will probably never grow.

I have carried you too long over oceans in a bottle.