Seed Spitter

A letter

Photo by Gilly Stewart on Unsplash

I address this letter
To the seed spitter.

There is pleasure in fruit,
And you take yours,
Savoring sweetness,
Spitting out seed.

What prerogative
Follows momentary pleasure?
When the pair of hands
That took the seed
And nurtured it into plant
Did so completely alone?

Hands that
Look different now,
Soil and sun,
Grit and thorns
Leaving permanent scars
On once flawless skin.

You look at those hands with disdain,
Pointing out every cut and stain.
You stake your claim:
Full ownership,
For in spitting out seed
All offspring is yours.

Pilfer the power
Of time and sacrifice.
Transient pleasure
Devoid of labor
Grants you full favor
To determine the freedom
Of hands forever attached to fruit,
Now forever indentured to you.

Will you ever understand the love
Those hands have for the
Life they delivered?
Would you also risk
Slitting your wrists
Wide open
To bleed soul into it?

Or will you forever lay
In fanciful sleep
Thinking of how this birth
Can bring you joy and amusement
Exclusive and effort free?