never to be
a tree, fated by the whim of a breeze
There is an old bucket on my back porch with a bit of dirt in the bottom. A few years ago it was home to a thriving tomato plant. This year however, the seed from a nearby tree had the misfortune to land in it. I noticed it this morning, happily sprouting, thriving even, inasmuch as a root bound tree can. But it will never be a tree unless someone intervenes and transplants it into the ground where its roots can run deep. It made me think about children born into poverty. Their birth is a random twist of the fates. We are not all equally advantaged from the start. For each child to realize their full potential a certain amount of intervention may be called for. When we deny this fact, by telling them to try harder, to work harder, or to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, we’re denying the reality of the “bucket”.
Poetry form for the month of May: Tetractys/5 lines/syllable count 1-2-3-4-10.