The Tuftroot of Pain

 

Image created by Bing AI

The Tuftroot of Pain

Here’s my only houseplant, the only one that survived,

its little back bent over, 

from where a heavy curtain fell and broke its spine.

Yet it refuses to give up,

its leaves still green and vibrant.

If it’s in pain, it is not telling.

And here are the three of us, all strong and feisty:

my grandmother, my mother and I.

All in our fifties, our backs bent over, 

each one nursing her own pain.

My grandmother, small and gracious,

her face upturned, as if

listening lovingly.

My mother, leaning forward, as if

suddenly forced into humility.

And myself, my shoulders rounding, 

my eyes cast downwards, as if

in modesty, though I am anything but

modest.

GloPoWriMo Day 27