Even though
big oaks from little acorns grow—

big grown-up oaks with roots in the past
and arms reaching to the future,
stable, strong, multi-talented—
able to take the slings and rubber-tipped arrows,
every leaf attuned to a different channel,
providing sustenance, shade, loam—

even so

it is good to be nut brown and smooth, tiny and hard,
with a nubbly cap, a helmet-beret
protecting my solitude, my possibility.
I fit in your hand, your hand on my head, my head in your lap.

I’m all potential and patience,
strength without striving,
excitement, expectation, and stillness.

Such a mighty thing for an oak to do,
turning into an acorn for an hour or two.