Poem for a Sunday afternoon

Green

Yesterday, drooping, you gave up hope,

Your silent screams becoming again a language I could read.

Interpreting my behavior as indifference,

            you buried your dreams, contenting yourself with survival

                        -- I don’t blame you.

Accustomed to our cyclical dance,

I apologetically did my part and,

when my back was turned,

you reassumed your habitually proud posture.

For some time I had known that this

lush green masquerade

was belying your true condition –

Stifled by walls of opposition, you could grow no further.

But in my selfish hurry, I chose the comfortable blindness of

Someday (Later).

Though I know not why, Someday came today,

            Replacing my denial with a wild love

                        that left you exposed –

            Roots pressed, redoubled back in wishful self-deceit

 -- or perhaps resilient hope

-- if you kept reaching, maybe, just maybe…

You were right to hold fast to that hidden glimmer

For now, safe in new soil, you’re free to dream again.
The color of hope becomes you.

 

 

I've never been much of a house plant person, but this plant I got about a year ago as a birthday present is teaching me more about life and love than I expected, especially today as I finally transplanted it. Observing the roots as I did so got me asking all sorts of questions like, "In what ways do I choose to keep growing roots in spaces that are too small instead of moving (metaphorically) to new soil (the greatly desired but also feared space of growth)?"  À méditer...