Rhetorical Question

What do you give when you have nothing
left to give?
Do you ever really have nothing left?
It feels that way, I realize,
but isn’t there a reservoir
of something adjacent to guts,
darker than courage,
grimmer than heart?

Something small, compact
like an acorn
from which the oak sprouted,
and you assumed the acorn
is dead now, it’s not needed,
the oak can take care of itself

Until it can’t, and you find
the acorn buried under all
that dirt — grip it in your hand
until it bleeds and you can stand again

(This is the answer to a rhetorical
question I asked today)