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2002-11-21 03:19:07 (UTC)

A Work Of Artifice

The bonsai tree
in the attractive pot
could have grown 80 feet tall
on the side of a mountain
till split by lightning.
But a gardener carefully pruned it.
It is nine inches high.
Everyday as he
whittles back the branches
the gardener croons,
It is your nature
to be small and cozy,
domestic and weak;
how lucky, little tree,
to have a pot to grow in.
With living creatures
one must begin very early
to dwarf their growth:
The bound feet,
the crippled brain
the hair in curlers,
the hands you
love to touch.


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