Antidote for Fear of Not Being Good Enough

Sometimes, afraid I am not good enough,
I lie on the grass
back heavy against the earth
and I swallow the sun
in great brilliant gulps
as if it is medicine,
the kind I never got as a child,
the kind that tastes like
whatever it is that makes
strawberries ripen,
whatever it is that makes
feathers grow,
whatever it is that erases
any thoughts of insufficiency
until all that remains
is a human lying in the grass,
a barest smile on my lips.
No wings sprouting from
my shoulders, no magic
transformation. Just
the softening that comes with
giving my body to the earth,
giving my all to the sun
until it overrides every other impulse.
Nothing magical about it
unless you count
all the sunlight dribbling like praise
down my chin.

by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer