Who Told You?

Little squirrel, who told you so?
Who said something new would grow?
Who explained what you must do?
Winter hasn’t happened to you.

Something stirs beneath my skin.
I can’t say what season I’m in.
Things I used to want grow small.
Some days I want to sing. That’s all.

Must I give this pull a name?
God or growth or little flame?
While I sit and think it through,
you have buried twenty-two.

Once I grew a little heart
without knowing how to start.
Now I feel a stirring too.
Little squirrel. Something new.