by corinna
I named him Vincent Van Diesel
Hoping he’d live up to his dual namesake
In artistry and action
He was just a puny plant in a terrarium
But there was something plucky about his demeanor
I remember the day I put him together
Such precision and craft
The work of my hands, the sweat of my brow
But on the train home
The terrarium fell apart
Precision and craft turned
Disorder and slapdash
That was the first tragedy
Still, he rose from the ashes of his buried past
A little wobbly, a little bent
I gave him sun, the brightest one
And he lived, mediocrely
Then came the second tragedy
His home was kicked over
And he tumbled around in its shambles
It must have been like a terrible ride in a washing machine
I presume, for I wasn’t home
Mom left him that way, in the darkness of her mistake
Till I dug him out and dusted him off
Cradling him like a scared child in a thunderstorm
He still lives
Today I nudge him under a dusty, golden ray
And say, “Vincent Van Diesel, the beginning
is perhaps more difficult than anything else,
but keep heart, live a quarter mile at a time,
it will turn out all right.”