Green Thumb

I don’t have a green thumb. I have killed two cacti in my lifetime. But, I like to think that maybe my green thumb is with words and not greenery, although both need nurturing and can provide beauty, joy, and comfort. I’ll leave the growing of trees to God.

I don’t write poems, I grow them,
A tiny seed of an idea that germinates,
starting from little sprigs of words.
They become strong branches of thoughts
With colorful leafy limbs of sentences.
And in the center, a sturdy trunk that holds
them all together, the message, the thesis, the theme.
Sometimes they shoot up and grow quickly like breezy bamboo.
Sometimes it takes longer, and they evolve over time like mighty oaks.
Each of them are unique and have different taxonomys:
Weeping Willows of sadness
Cherry blossoms of pure joy
Whimsically crafted bonsais
Strong and stately redwoods
I hope they bring beauty and shade to everyone who passes by them.
A place to explore and climb up in their branches
or land safely to rest and relax on their limbs
And discover the beauty that they hold from within.