Currant Bush

cut down again, 

the hundredth time, 

to clumps of stumps that stretch, 

limbs upward 

 

wondering why 

and what they 

did wrong this time 

not ready for fruit, I guess 

not strong enough, I guess 

not wanted? a nagging pain 

the smallest in the garden, 

midst an orchard filled 

with giants -- tall, abundant, productive  

overpowering, overshadowing, 

dwarfing 

clump of stumps that tries to be 

the right thing, tries to grow 

the right way, 

sees the spilling berries 

that it wants to hold and carry 

in the clouds someday

but cut, 

knocked down again 

and again 

and again

a barely-more-than-seedling 

in the eyes of the orchard 

who prays the Gardener sees her 

as a tree