• Carly Feinman

Day 40- 10.26.20

A lesson in trust (from a barren tomato plant)

When I saw the seeds there

on the cutting board, in a pool of

it’s own juice, I thought to myself

“Yes, absolutely, of course

this is the moment for me

to grow myself my own tomato.”

It hasn’t worked out that way—not yet.

Seven months later and

the handful of seeds I washed, dried,

planted, watered, and tended to

with Olympic discipline,

they have grown, yes, but

should you visit me here

and take a look for yourself—

well you’d see a green monster,

all gangly-limbed with hundreds of leaves

and sturdy stems, standing four feet tall,

but no tomatoes in sight.

My tomato plant is grand

in the way a temple is grand

and it stands with such a profound dignity

on several occasions I’ve felt shy

in its presence.

Now, it’s lower leaves have begun to wilt

and turn pale and morose—and just

at the precise moment

its highest branches

began showing signs

of flowering.

I‘be been meditating on this

on this most upsetting botanical mystery.

I’ve been staring at this rascal of a plant and seeing myself.

When I am most quiet and most open,

I hear this: When parts of ourselves are dying

other parts are preparing

to bloom.


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