It All Starts With a Question
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro
It all starts with a question.
Somehow, someway it gets spoken
Or simply lifts into your life, like
Morning. Either way
It appears and your life changes.
Perhaps it sings into your life, like
Morning birds that say:
“Flock! Tree! Let’s Go!
Stay! Sun! Fly! Wings!”
Maybe it gets puzzled up in chatter.
Perhaps it crashes into your life, like
A tree branch through your roof.
Perhaps it stands unspoken for years
In a corner of the room, like
A lamp without a lightbulb.
Perhaps it drifts into your awareness, like
The fragrance of morning coffee,
Old books, or the air just before rain,
No matter how or when it arrives,
The thing to do is to remember:
There is a quest in every question.
And sometimes questions
Need to be followed casually, like
A child on a walk in the woods,
And sometimes questions need to be pursued, like
A lost child in a carnival.
And sometimes questions simply need
To be acknowledged, and the answers
Pale in comparison to the fact
That you were finally able to ask whatever it was
You so desperately needed to ask.
And sometimes the answer is so utterly everyday
You miss it, like a stop sign or a dandelion—
And sometimes the question and the answer
Arise together, like
The butterfly in the cocoon,
Or the bird in the egg,
Or acceptance in the sorrow,
And sometimes…sometimes,
It all ends with a question,
And when it does,
The thing to do is to remember:
There is a quest in every question,
And no quest is ever deemed unworthy
Simply because the end winds up being
Another beginning, or the “X marks the spot”
Ends up being the very place
Where your knees touch the ground
Or your eyes search the sky,
And no quest, no matter what
Any staunch individualist says
Is ever meant to be traveled alone.
