Sprout (9/30/2024)

The head seedsman allowed my mother to return, though she came back with me, an uncharted sperm sown by a distant seedsman from a faraway field.

When I broke through the soil in my new patch, standing taller and leaner than the sprouts that had come before me, I heard the townsfolk whisper, "It's not for lack of sun; he's of bad seed."

But now I know the truth: those murmurs were the rustling of weeds.