The Knife

I felt something
slide through me -
the thinnest of blades
wielded with finesse;
if only you knew
that a blade of grass
could cut through
my heart,
would you still do that?
but you don't -
and so
I writhe,
I bleed,
I die a little,
and I grow;
now an oak
that I didn't know
I was meant to be,
when I was
just another
mute seed
lying still
in the fallow dirt
of my home.