blossomless saplings, cultivated and pruned

I speak to you,

mother to mother –

Packaged for delivery.

In birth we were open parcels,

Flower-potted

and raw

With time, cauterized, your branches –

overgrowth bound tight as rope –

were where I found solace in emulation.

I have hardened in rings of tree

by three – omens, the loves of my life – oh,

men, men, men! Wired when, my bonsai limbs

My skin a fragrant forest faerie sheen,

I radiate to you, to you.

Mother, mother,

I’ve grown my twigs –

I’m being shipped to sea.

I worry that my friends, stowaway seeds,

may never make it to shore.

The cargo hull, stagnant, forlorn,

I wilt, I wilt. I pray, I toss, I turn.

I cannot get my heart’s furnace to churn.

In time we angered, fruitless in the fall –

My cardboard roots deep and tangled with aluminum string

By spring we did not ripen, did not bloom.Now

I feed on sun, trapped by sky –

In my cage, I am a god.

I am splintered and worn.

. I am lovely and warm.

I will grow, and reach and strain

I will rise, I will yearn –

I will shine, I will burn.