You planted me two years ago
myself and my sister casserole dish gardens
– you who have always been fascinated
by the miniature worlds of Bottle Gardens and Bonsai.
Bottle gardens grew too lush
in the sweet-jar worlds
of your teenage window sill
Pennywort and Maidenhair ferns
an unruly tangled jungle
and Bonsai you studied and realised
you needed a Master
not just to teach the art
but from whom you could inherit
because a hundred-year-old tree
needs a hundred years to grow
no matter how small it is kept
by tortuous processes…
Coming back from Covid lockdown Crete
you smuggled fragments of plants
to create me – a miniature garden!
In Crete, Jade trees the size of bushes
a plant you didn’t even know had flowers
now grace us gardens as tiny trees
planted next to choice rocks
a nod to the Bonsai plantings
of your dreams
We are mostly filled with succulents
which flowered this year in ways
which surprised and delighted you
reaching a flower-tipped tendril
towards the light but then shrivelling
and dying – perhaps not to return…
One of us you inherited
from your late sister in Ireland
whose partner delighted her
by planting a pink-dyed
spiky phallus of a cactus
along with succulent friends
in the lopsided glass
of a washing machine door
– the self-seeded Shamrocks
came along for the ride
the tiny Mexican-hatted miniature
of Tequila – “For Emergencies”
redundant, since she
had already encountered
her final life emergency.
You took us to work
where there were wider window-sills
than your open-plan hayloft conversion
and you see us and celebrate us
whilst weekly watering us.
People think we succulents can survive
without water but in truth
like most plants – we like it weekly
Meanwhile, as your eye wanders
through we miniature worlds
do you feel in control of your creations
or are we in your life
a living reminder of
mortality and fragility.
Do you wonder if we will outlive you
and carry on, watered by another –
inherited by another?
Do you wonder whether
anyone has even thought
to water us these weeks
you’ve been consumed by covid
when, head full of cotton wool
you forgot to ask anyone
to fill in for the gardener?
Don’t worry – we can manage
the occasional drought!
Can we say the same for you…
© Andrew Wilson, 2023
This poem is posted in response to Björn Rudberg (brudberg) in Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft over at dVerse Poets Pub
I like the viewpoint of those succulents, and I also feel that urge to collect that some of us has to keep at bay… love the viewpoint.
Ah yes collecting – such a human trait Bjorn…
How incredibly clever from this point of view! Our droughts are becoming more and more damaging. In my lifetime I don’t foresee solving the climate crisis. Andrew, you have an amazing way with words ~ I enjoy everything you gift us.
Thank you Helen! Right now, we are suffering the opposite side of climate change – catastrophic flooding but that is easier to live with here (though not in places like Bangladesh) than drought – I fear we may all have to channel our inner succulence…
A very creative use of the prompt, Andres. I love your casserole bowls of plants. An interesting perspective.
Once I started making them Dwight – I couldn’t stop (there is one more that I didn’t photograph) lol
Wow! I luv both succlents and bonsai. Both processes i have tried without success. I remember attending a bonsai workshop; my ‘ficus friendly’ was going so well until…
As for succlents all i can say is these ventures just didn’t go well for me.
Your poem however is very very interesting reading
Thanks for dropping by my blog
Much💛love
I love everything about this poem…..and oh yes…a head full of cotton wool is such an apt description of a symptom of Covid! I especially liked these words
“a hundred-year-old tree
needs a hundred years to grow
no matter how small it is kept
by tortuous processes…” They made me smile. There is a wonderful Japanese garden in San Diego’s Balboa Park….with a section specifically for Bonsai trees. That’s what your words made me think of here.
Thanks, Lilian, I do wish I had persisted in my Bonsai interest, I would have had 50-year-old specimens by now to leave to my grandchildren or whoever…
Unique perspective, and yes asks a very poignant question can we survive the droughts. I think about that as I see my garden so quickly turning to dust.
I read that Olive crops are failing in the Mediterranean countries if not being wiped out by bushfires – it’s a catastrophe which this year feels beyond ignoring…
Such an interesting perspective, Andrew!
Perhaps it will be such plants that will survive. The climate seems extreme everywhere all the time now–droughts, floods, tornados, . . .
An unusual and, at first, humorous viewpoint and collective voice, but it sobers us up rapidly. Enjoyed this tremendously, Andrew. Hoping for some dry weather coming your way!
This is sheer poetic brilliance! ❤️❤️❤️
Thank you Sanaa ❤️
I loved this Andrew – I must go and listen to my succulents! I love the tone, the voice perspective and that provocative last line is fabulous.