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Pot-Bound By Ken Shiovitz The plant topples, cracks its terra cotta base, Sends pebbles bouncing along the brick path, Crumples branches and leaves, Reveals drain tiles hanging on exposed roots, This product of seventeen years of our nurturing love Lies momentarily upended. When just a seedling, sprouted in a tiny peat pot, We nudged strands of moss away from the stem, To prevent damping off by unseen fungal forces, Above a precisely mixed potting soil, Watched so that excess water did not rot the roots, Let it dry between drinks, and kept it nearly pot-bound. Those early years were a period of challenge, With exposure to every healthy environment, Ceaseless feedings and changes of pottery, Messy seepages, as strands undertook their trims, And ever so slowly, the plant increased in strength, Learning to resist the whims of nature. Later growth occurred in spurts of gangly appendages, Followed by appearance of the first shy flower, But who could keep pace with the constant need, Logical arguments to purchase ever larger pots, Endless cries for more space, Pleas to escape confinement of the house? So in compromise, the plant was placed outside, To experience the unfiltered song of the sun, The stimulating touch of wild summer breezes, That excited leaves and branches, And caused roots to expand so uncontrollably, It finally burst free to seek a place of its own. |