Along with planting comes destroying. How is your root system? What needs to go so you can grow?
He asks me a question I’ve never considered before.
When is it that you know you have to go someplace else?
At first I think I don’t know, don’t go, never have, just try to
do what’s expected, bloom where I’m planted.
But then the answer germinates in the soil of my mind.
I see a potted plant, roots protruding from the drainage hole
in the bottom, ready to go, bursting to grow.
After weeks or months or years of putting its root system
of consolidating its power, husbanding its resources, it has
a crisis point, lost its equilibrium, has to go, has to grow.
I run down to the cellar and root around for a larger pot,
a little larger only, so my vulnerable plant won’t wilt in the
unstructured vastness of a new world without apparent walls.
I have to smash the old pot to rescue my restless plant,
impacted root system now naked in my hand. A small
but a radical operation to deliver the plant from death.
Without the space to grow, it will shrivel and die.
When is it that I know I have to go someplace else?
When I have to grow or die.
by Diana Chapman Walsh
Writing Prompt: I am growing and I require….