July 3, 2016 § 2 Comments


In the context of
the vigorous expansion
of a woody stem,
its core mechanics
white and wet and pulpy,

In the context of
the artless spring
inherent in the infant leaves
unfurling like vaginas
and deep-space nebulae,

The branching of its arms
which are not arms
but more akin
to skin or skeleton or lungs,

The branching of its feet,
akin to feet
but also tongues that lick
and swallow earth,

The care of potted plants
involves their constant recontainment,
outgrowing home,
outgrowing my ability to lift them.

Thoughtfully arranged around
my living room in genteel tubs
of black, electric dirt,
a thousand crisp, white hairs
dispatch a supple and insistent inclination,

Unmapped until my fingers wrap around the humid ball
in vague, but gradually evolving awe
for this, so unsuppressible and
ethereal, yet at the same time
such a filthy mess.

“This time,” I think,
“I’ll be my gentlest yet.
The new soil flush
the crumbly cluster
sweetly more,
loving more
than ever, ever, ever


§ 2 Responses to Transplanting

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