Monday, September 28, 2015

Potted Plant

Prompt and consistent care can help a plant survive being uprooted.

The truth is- that's me, and here I am hungry again, roots reaching out: PANIC.  I grow.  I bloom.  I blossom watered with sweet words, the tender touch of friends.  My food, sunlight, shelter, protection from winter, bringing in from storms all tended to by someone else.  I am a potted plant.  I am meant to decorate, bring joy, provide amusement, radiate kindness, and generally not ask for much.

I reach not for foreign places.  I reach not to travel.  I ask not for daily devotions or moving of mountains.  I grow up, conservatively, and beautifully, in one, tiny, well-curated, well-established spot in a container garden on a patio of a loving home in a good neighborhood.  The truth is- I probably wasn't his only potted plant, either, but that's a poem for another day.  I grow from home.  And now- I have none.

Suddenly with neither sickle nor trowel, but by my very gardener's bare hand, I learned how meekly I had grown my little roots.  I learned how soft was that potting mix I had become so accustomed to.  I was violently ripped by the stem in one tug, and cast onto the patio;  looking up at a ceiling which I had not seen.  I had not even considered such a thing.  I gasped the air looking desperately about.  Not yet suffering what I imagine is to come; the lack of water, the dying of my blossoms, the withering, the cold.  I don't yearn for that same gardener to pick me up... and yet... I feel the need that perhaps someone should?  Or perhaps am I meant to crawl my way off the porch and become some sort of invader in a garden bed, fighting with the other plants for food and sunlight?

Still, even after the pain and loss,
You would think I had learned, but I have not.
All I really want. All I've ever wanted
Is a beautiful little pot.
In a well-manicured spot.
Smiling at a gardener who would not
Try and make me what I am not,
but would tend in me what I am.
For what am I
but a potted plant in a container garden.
On a patio in the sunny South?


as if i'd tell you
as if i'd let you in
this world i've built around myself
is caving in again

the echoes racing round my heart
are trying to get in
ugliness and falling apart
desperate to pretend

that i never fell for you
i'd never ask you to
come back for me