Seed: He came back.

Seed

I planted you long ago when the soil was fertile and soft,

And perfect for you to grow—to flourish—and then tower before me.

When months passed with no sign of you I became disheartened,

Because the package you came in promised you would come.

After six weeks of watering, maintenance and affection

I expected you to be here.

Ever so often, I’d press my ear to the ground to hear if you were growing below

Without me.

But I never heard a thing.

It took two years for me to let you go and consider planting another,

But suddenly I didn’t want to anymore,

So instead, I built a house—

Overtop the garden—the spot—

Where I planted you.

In the summertime when the sun was hot

And brought along a drought,

I was grateful; because that year I never planted a garden,

Instead I renovated my house,

Mosaic tiled the floors and painted the walls.

I was so proud,

So content with my projects and with myself that I finally forgot about you.

One night, I was awoken by a glass falling to the ground.

Someone must have broken in.

I grabbed my baseball bat and tiptoed to the kitchen,

But when I got there the room was empty and there were shards on the ground.

I placed the large pieces into a bag then swept the small ones into a dust pan.

Then I noticed a crack.

And there you were,

Growing through the tiles when you had been forgotten.

In a month, you were a tree, and your branches broke my windows.

In a year, you were a tower, and your roots destroyed my plumbing.

Now, you’re a menace, and your leaves make me itchy.

When I planted you, watered you, loved you, you never came.

Then I ploughed you, starved you and forgot you, you tore through the ground.