THE PEAR TREE (Poem)

THE PEAR TREE

By Farah Lawal Harris, 2025

In my childhood bedroom,

with blinds and curtains we were not allowed to open when Daddy was home,

I grew a little pear tree from seed.

What began my obsession with growing things?

Maybe it was being a gifted kid full of curiosity.

Or growing up in a stuffy apartment too small for my dreams.

Either way, after learning to sprout mung beans in Biology,

I ate a pear, saved the seeds, and it was on and planting.

I have no recollection of where I got the soil or pot.

All the plants we owned were plastic or wax.

But I do remember what it felt like to see the seedling break throughout the soil,

the goosebumps on my forearms as I watched the first leaf unfold.

It was then I knew that I was capable of performing miracles.

The stem began to grow taller and taller.

I nourished the plant with water—not a drop of fertilizer—

and what little sunlight it could catch from my bedroom window facing the alley.

I loved that little pear tree.

And when it grew soft white flowers,

I smiled from ear to ear.

I had no idea that the end of the plant was near.

The plant quickly declined and eventually died.

I could have cried, but instead I dreamed.

One day I would live in a house with a garden just for me.

And now I do.

I grow all kinds of herbs and flowers

and fruits and vegetables

because that adolescent summer

proved it was possible.

I have yet to attempt another pear tree,

but I carry this question with me:

If these hands were capable of growing a little fruit tree

in a dimly lit bedroom in an apartment building,

what other miracles are waiting to be planted by me?

—

Written for National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo