Unable to resist wilted, discarded, dying plants
my mother picks them from garbage piles
carries them home to nurse back to health.
Our windowsills filled with scraggly, leafless,
yellow strands she feeds, waters, hovers over.
Hopes to recreate the lush look on plant labels,
magazine pictures. Imagines our garden
filled to overflowing with beauties she has revived.For her birthday and Mother’s Day we buy
robust plants in pots: African violets,
philodendron and once an orchid in full bloom.
No challenge, they bore her, fade with neglect.
Only then does she step in with her snippers,
fresh soil and fertilizer. Ruthlessly upends pots.
Trims roots, wilted and browned stems, returns
much-diminished stubs tenderly to fresh pots.When the first small shoots appear, she smiles
points with pleasure to her accomplishment –
“See I knew it could be saved.”Copyright Linda J Himot, December, 2020
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