by Nijole Miliauskaite
this spring I must transplant, it's about time
my aloe, old, gnarled
aloe vera, treasured beyond words
by those who know its healing qualities
hidden deep within
what a tangle of roots, tiny ones, thick ones
so tight that there is no way
I can remove it, no matter what I do,
I grab a rock and smash the vase
and why, after all,
were you so stubborn, clinging
to the clay walls of the vase
with all your strength?
what was it you were holding onto?
don't scratch me, don't scrape my arms
don't tell me you liked
your prison, narrow and poor as it was,
where you never had enough water or food, after all
you'll get a new vase, spacious and beautiful!
my soul, don't tell me that you too
are clutching at the unstable
of your prison
Last updated August 08, 2015