Tuesday, April 19, 2005

I Thought I Killed the Sage

April 19, 2005

I never found a home for her
last summer.

She lived in temporary quarters:
A cheap, black, twelve inch pot,
sitting inside faux terra cotta.

I had not intended
to put her in the ground,
though I made plans
to bring her inside..
In the midst of madness,
somehow I forgot,
though I passed her everyday
on my way into the house.

Then winter came;
some said it was mild,
but the damp chill ate through
to my bones
(I really must get a transfusion),
and she sat outside
in a black, twelve inch pot
looking quite dead.

More than once,
I decided to end her suffering

Spring came slowly,
almost begrudgingly.

One day when
warmth had crept
enough into the world
for me to stand outside
without a shiver,
I noticed her,
and with an air of
and maybe a hint of regret,
I resolved to give her
a proper burial
in the dumpster, although
I never found the time,
that day or the next.

A week later,
I returned
to pay last respects
and finally put to rest
a dead and broken
lifeless plant
which no one ever
would have recognized
as Russian Sage..

Except for tiny,
fragrant leaves
sprouting from the union
of her branches.

To think
I might have thrown her out
in the middle of winter.

No comments:

George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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