The Vine ... For Monika

This is a true story, Monika. It happened while we were still living in my beloved Oregon. I thought of it again when I saw your pictures.

The Vine

It was small,
but mighty,
delicate,
but fiercely determined—
the vine
that grew outside my back door.
It was an invader,
conqueror,
traveler,
explorer.

Imagine when,
one morning I noticed
such delicate life
invading my kitchen.
Through the wall, no less,
it had burrowed—
a leafy drill
through stucco and wood,
dry wall and plaster.

I should cut it away, I thought,
tear it out by its roots,
seal its passage,
pull it out and destroy it,
but how could I
when all I could do
was watch in amazement
as little by little
and day by day it traveled
across the linoleum.

Where next would it go?
I wondered.

Would I,
one morning awaken
to find myself covered
with a blanket of leaves?
Or would I be trapped
in its vines,
trussed
like a fly in a web?

I moved on,
leaving
the vine behind,
and wondering
where next did it go—
where next did it go?