I’m feeling moved to share one of my favorite poems by Maya Angelou. Although she mentions “my children” in the first line of Elegy, I’ve never felt her poem was to be read literally. This poem is about our creative offspring… whatever they may be. What have we nurtured in our lives? What are we willing to lie down and create fertile soil for, in order that whatever-it-is may continue to thrive and grow after we pass on?
Life is generative, it wants to continue being generative. Don’t waste your precious time and resources on anything less.
Elegy by Maya Angelou
I lay down in my grave
and watch my children
grow
Proud blooms
above the weeds of death.
Their petals wave
and still nobody
knows the soft black
dirt that is my winding
sheet. The worms, my friends,
yet tunnel holes in
bones and through those
apertures I see the rain.
The sunfelt warmth
now jabs
within my space and
brings me roots of my
children born.
Their seeds must fall
and press beneath
this earth,
and find me where I
wait. My only need to
fertilize their birth.
I lay down in my grave
and watch my children
grow.
