When I was young, I grew up
with a pear tree in my backyard.
My father always said, "A dream is fertile soil,
but a promise is the seed."
Middle class is the new poverty,
causing me to dig up dirt with my hands,
All to plant a promise within that fertile soil,
that someday my passions would ripen like pears
With close eyes, I promise to myself on my knees
for an opportunity at a higher education
to trade a job for a career,
To have a stage where my passion can be heard.
Yet, I carried only a seed
in the pocket of my denim.
never grasping a sturdy branch
my dreams lay dormant,
burden by tuition debt,
but still, I planted it in the soil.
At times, I feared my promise would never develop roots ,
watching the soil on lonesome nights,
until my seed sprouted, in this moment blooming before my eyes.
A scholarship offered, established the year I was born.
Knowing I was destined for greatness,
I now feel the leaves on my face,
dancing in the garden of green pears—
planted from a single promise,
that was once only a seed.
