Each child held a smudge of possibility on their hands;
seeds so tiny, how could they become whole plants?
Daisies whose flowers could dry out and crackle in our palms
the swishing wish of wattle, red brushes or blue stars?
One after the other and sometimes together
the children flung them – seeds, husk, the dried earth of their digging –
into the loose patch of soil and
waited a moment to see if they would grow.