Its black, plastic pot
has started to bulge and twist.
Water used to drain
straight through it –
now it sits unmoved.
Nonetheless, it still blooms,
though thinner.

Outside, I cut away
its pot, put it in a hole
and pack soil
in the space that’s left
to steady it.

Leaving the hospice,
I wonder how long
before this solid cylinder of roots
breaks down.

 
Tristan Moss lives in York with his partner and two young children. He has recently had poems published in Snakeskin, Lighten Up Online, NOON, Fat Damsel and Shadow Train.