A-ma’s Apricots
Houston, TX
2025, Junior, Poetry & Spoken Word
My a-ma’s hands knew the soil,
how to coax green from frost, how to whisper to roots in the quiet hours of the morning,
before the sun climbed the hills.
She spoke to trees like they were people,
and sometimes I think,
they answered her.
I was raised in a beautiful garden that felt endless,
rolling hills draped in grapes and weeds, apricot trees humming with bees,
fruit swelling warm under the sun, berries hiding under tangled branches,
bushes bursting like fireworks, roses curling open without shame,
and grass in every corner.
Nature was never gentle.
It was cold water, cracked hands, ladders leaning into branches,
and cicadas crying like ghosts.
But it was also love.
Discipline.
Truth.
My a-ma’s apricots were more than fruit.
They were promises from the earth to us, written in sweat and soil,
proof that our care will be returned in the form of a beautiful fruit.
Now I stretch between worlds, the concrete lines and poisoned air of the city
and the wildness in my blood that still knows when it’s going to rain.
But the earth is breaking, seasons shift without mercy,
storms rage like fury unleashed, forests shrink beneath our neglect,
and my a-ma’s apricots fade in warming winds.
Resilience grows everywhere, even on the broken earth, but resilience alone will not save us.
We must protect the soil, the trees, the water, the air, or lose what makes us stronger.
I breathe better outside, in the silence among trees older than human civilization itself.
when the wind smells like pollen, memory, and apricots, and not of chemicals, dust, and poison.
Nature made me, not softly, but with purpose and pride,
like a-ma’s apricots.
Reflection
I came up with the idea for my poem by revisiting memories of my childhood garden in California. I remembered the hills, grasses, weeds, plants and especially the apricot trees that always grew no matter what. We also had grapes, blackberries, raspberries, peaches, aloe vera, pomelo, cacti, arbutus fruit, and roses. My a-ma taught me how to care for them, but what stuck with me most was how little nature really needed us. It just kept growing. That’s what inspired my poem, the wildness, the stubbornness, and the quiet beauty of things that bloom even when it’s hard. My creative process was mostly remembering and observing. I thought about the difference between where I live now and where I lived before. Now I live in the city, where everything feels cleaner but less alive. But at the same time, I feel that nature is still inside of me. That memory and feeling helped shape my poem. Writing makes me feel more connected to the world and to myself. Nature teaches me resilience, not just survival. It teaches how to thrive in tough places. My message is that nature isn’t weak, and it’s not separate from us. It’s powerful, wild, and alive, and if we respect it, protect it, and learn from it, it will keep teaching us how to live, too.