Never Have I Potted

Never have I potted

a plant with such rough hands

 

Re-potting though it was

philodendron vines

looped endlessly to keep

the damned things off the floor

 

My fingers could barely make sense of it all

an unkempt jumbled mess

huge swaths completely devoid of leaf

 

I cut the hell out of that wretch

unceremoniously dumped the dirt

 

What happened to the tender me

who proceeds with such great care?

 

Peeling the pot where it adhered to the shelf

I discovered three smooth stones tucked away,

one word carved on each:

 

Hope     Peace     Joy

 

(tossed them with a sneer)

 

Despair     Distress     Grief

 

jarring lethal gift

oh what a pretty bow

 

Now on the stoop I sit

sack of soil,

tangled plant,

a pot

and me

 

Cover up the roots

many unconnected

to anything green on top

 

Bury it all, alive

why not, might as well

now’s as good a time as any

 

I’m moving back to gentle now

tuck tender punctured bits

into their bed to rest

 

Toss one away, then find it back

 

One feisty root springs forth,

its lone leaf bears a splotch:

 

glitter glue of all good goddamned things

(my heart swells at the sight)

 

Finish now with a little water

damp but not a flood

take it back inside

help it settle in

 

Fuss about the angles

back away, take a look, move in

micro-positionings toward the sun

 

Then all of a sudden that bright spot hits

slow grin like an opening door

 

General admission

Front row seats

A spectacular view of the show

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