Bonsai

We spent the afternoon at a bonsai farm,

All these miniature shrubs and their ancient charm.

A Japanese form of horticultural art that takes a tree,

Traditionally tall, and stunts its growth, keeps it small. 

. . .

This must be a special species, some wild indigenous plant, I always thought,

But no, it’s a verb! 

Long as you grow twigs you can be bonsai’d,

Placed in a shallow pot.

. . .

Maples, Ficus, Junipers, Jade.

Chinese Elms, Bald Cypress, Azaleas, and Pine. 

Imagine these beasts in their beastliest size.

Now imagine them shrunk, shaped that way by design.

. . .

It takes a careful hand, long-suffering spirit, and concentrated mind,

But after five-hundred years of undivided time,

You’ve got a mature, thumb-sized trunk and

A whole tiny root system that winds.

. . .

I looked at my young sapling and wondered how hard could it be.

I wrapped wire ‘round her branches and took clippers to her leaves.

I pinched her buds, watered her lightly, gave her good sun and tucked her in nightly.

I pruned the dead stuff away and made her smallness my song. 

. . .

But she let out her first laugh, what was I doing wrong?

I put her in the littlest, bittiest dish I could find, but in the morning I was gutted -- 

She’d doubled in size! It was worth a fair shot, figured I’d give it a whirl, but

Try as you might, you can’t bonsai a girl.