my mother's calloused grasp

reached across the ocean

to a world with sealed borders and blind eyes

the land pseudo-tainted, she dug the soil

and planted a sprout that was never meant to be

its roots clung for dear life

withstanding the unforgiving barren land

droughts and floods and pollution exposed

vines reached for the heavens, grazing cloud mimicry

only to fall back into leaves of wilting gray

but day after day, progress was logged

stretching sinews of passion, muscles of confidence

fruition matched the days of strife

and will continue today