100 days of solitude

It started with, being uprooted

It was gentle at first

 

I didn’t even know

I was on trial

it was happening

Maybe I was just in denial

or I was tricked into thinking

 

it would be pretty smooth

I was so wrong

 

So, cracks in the nourishing soil showed

           Well, I had nothing to hide

           I was exposed on the outside

then the fine roots broke

           they could always be grown back

 

A couple tugs interspersed with

periods of relaxation later

 

I knew it was coming

and for me only

 

my entire body shuddered in anticipation

The pot was shattered with toil

precious chunks of soil

clung to my deepest

and toughest

roots

 

I longed for my old home

and complained about fresh air

 

It stung my roots in totality

severed with such brevity

callous as it were

It was the moment of truth pure

and untainted

giving birth within me for a desire

un-fated

to be a better me.

 

I did not see it at first.

It was not so urgent.

 

Days flowed into one another

night was day,  solemn bright

and I was night in shapeless flight

I did not know where I ended

and where the pot began

 

The pot! Oh!

My fine roots had grown back

 

I did not see it at first

But now I finally had.

 

I was in an environment afresh

my root was a system enmeshed

into pure black fertile soil

with minty green long tender foils

that roll

              upward

        and toward

the sunshine.

 

-for myself