"I am going to try and make it grow" Is the expression I exclaim As I initiate the ritual, With a whip made of positive affirmations And a lashing from my tongue Unto the skeletal frame of a Juniper. My encouragement cracks gashes Into the flaky surface Of a crumbling wooden torso. Fearful termites scatter, Funneling into algebraic built burrows While torn limbs join the carcasses below But they are not alone, Glass paper lanterns Float on a sea of quartz Witholding the element of water instead of providing light Powdery white residue outlines previous attempts, Excuses in a black light, Fertilizer's spread. A few phrases satisfy my frustration Triggering defeats final glance And a reminder of the advice from my aunt, "No Mijo...your going to make it grow!"
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