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a mere ten inches tall,
I wonder what you are feeling.
Rescued from the shadows,
placed tenderly, tap root intact,
in a new five-gallon home
with the best potting soil
available, in a spot
where you will have
afternoon sun,
where you will be seen
and generously tended
with cups of water when
your soil is dry,
until you are old enough
to be planted up on the hill
with the other oaks and pines.
Are you upset to be pulled
up by the shovel's cold steel,
stolen from under
your mother's arms,
where you planned to spend
the rest of your days, little knowing
there was not enough space
or light for you there?
© by Carolyn Chilton Casas
Used here with permission.
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Carolyn Chilton Casas lives on the central coast of California. A Reiki Master and teacher, she often explores ways of healing in her writing. Carolyn's stories and poems have appeared in numerous publications and she is the author of one poetry collection, Our Shared Breath. A new collection, Under the Same Sky, is forthcoming. Carolyn enjoys hiking and beach volleyball; learn more about her on Instagram at mindfulpoet_ .
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Anastasia:
Talking to plants is good therapy, for both people and plants! When I have to transplant my green loves to a larger pot, I explain to them that it's going to be a bit upsetting, but they will be happier and healthier in their new, larger home. It does seem to help reduce the transplant shock!
Posted 11/28/2023 03:14 PM
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Judy:
So tender!
Posted 11/28/2023 11:32 AM
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spiritoppy:
Oh that last line really struck me. Thank you!
Posted 11/27/2023 04:06 PM
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Lori Levy:
Unique perspective.
Posted 11/27/2023 01:12 PM
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cork:
You give new life to this sprout.
Posted 11/27/2023 10:46 AM
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Michael:
So fitting for the occasion, Carolyn, and deeply felt.
Posted 11/27/2023 09:26 AM
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NormaB:
That final stanza provides a great deal to contemplate. Thank you!
Posted 11/27/2023 08:28 AM
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Larry Schug:
Certainly an act deserving of a poem.
Posted 11/27/2023 08:15 AM
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