Yesterday I noticed the grove
(surrounded and alone)
a quiet awareness itching my mind:

I stand on two feet, two spindle legs, two reaching arms, with ten outstretched fingers
brown boots, knotted laces
and when I boil it all down, I am looking for something.

In fact, I think this planet is covered with seven billion people
looking for something. Searching with fourteen billion straining eyes,
Twenty eight billion hands and feet grasping, stomping

Maybe that is that human condition,
This insatiable, feverish longing,
Seeking the substantial, the significant, the substantive
Pursuing the pulse-stopping satisfaction.

Seven billion strong we pound the earth:
Highways, runways, plane bellies, ocean tankers, treadmills.

Seven billion strong we wander

Oh what I would do to give it all up,
Let roots extend from the soles of my brown walking boots. Body rigid, skin scarred,
brown, wrinkled, ridged. Needless, wantless, singing.

Saturday morning
(surrounded and alone)
I capitulate to the earth

Fiona Grant is a freshman English major from Louisville, Kentucky. She hopes to gain and share a deep-seated understanding of our cosmos, reality, and all that is human actuality.