A tiny tendril escapes
From the yellow -brown stalk
Life salvaged from nearly-crumbling-into-the-soil
I smile triumphant
I think of my mother
And her fifty-three pots
Of lilies, orchids, roses
Even a patch of tomatoes
Behind the outhouse
The sparkle of her eyes
Lovingly caresses those lives
Tending them the same way she has
The lives from her womb
We flew away from the nest
Barren soil of emptiness
And she planted a garden of petunias
In the soil damp with longing
A sprinkle of prayers for all her children
We got our own plants to keep alive
But while my plants often shrivel and die
Of thirst and neglect
Hers sprout magnificent
Under her warm smile
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