PINCHING BACK

I hate it.

All of my green friends
hate it.

And yet,
I feel Obliged.
It is necessary.
Once a month the trauma
occurs,
A ritualistic clockwork.

A Saturday morning,
A backdrop of cartoons,
I close the door,
Lay out tools,
and offer a prayer
for wisdom.

The first served are
the purple passion
and the Mexican potted spider.
I wash their dusty blades and clip the spider's blackened tips
like hair.

The room feels their panic,
"It's time to stop
a voice tells me.
But I go on.

Down comes the golden pathos,
I cut off eight inches.
My beautiful Jade
pinched back,
sharp fingernails
cutting.

By now,
they've all withdrawn,
leaving their empty stalks
to my hands.
I uproot,
clip and clean,
Finsihing the bad business.

then,
sitting cross-legged
I read poetry aloud.
And the sweet plants come back,Forgive,
And fill the room with love.

Links to My Poetry: The Beginnings