Panic throws up her
force field and solidifies
resistance to the truth;
denial hardens her
.
tortoise-shell exterior.
Her heart has been spared
in this temporary cocoon,
but greenhouse emissions
.
end up blowing a lot of hot
air, and little else of any
real substance. Her foray
into the real world
.
can’t be put off forever,
or she will stunt in her
space capsule, grow gangly
in her soul’s quest for
.
a fruitful life. She hasn’t
yet tasted sun skin to skin,
or roots flying free, or
she would break out.
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That’s an intriguing glass house in the photo.
It’s a water jug with the bottom cut out of it. I reuse these for my tomatoes – they work just like a miniature greenhouse.
A glass water jug?
Plastic, actually.
Ah, okay; I thought it might be plastic but you made it look like glass. Clever!
Powerful poem! Her sights are set on the sun, and she’ll reach up with just a bit more growing!
Yay for her!!
I relate this to us humans!
Absolutely! My poetry almost always has more than one meaning – one literal and one a little deeper. I’m glad you catch the points which are hiding a bit! 🙂