Potted Plants

The potted plants that line the stairs To my mother’s house, Are a sad reminder Of what we all left behind. Moving never gets easy, The houses get smaller and smaller, The soil dryer and dryer, Until we have to resort To little pots That regulate the growth, The freedom, of all things Living in it. Once, we had land Big enough for a huge garden. Rows and rows of plants In beds and beds of soil. With a well and a bucket To draw water. But now, All we have are the potted plants That line the stairs to home.