I thought a bigger pot would help it breathe

I thought a bigger pot would help it breathe,

but the roots were a fist, a knot of brown

that didn't want the space I tried to give.

Then the clay slipped. It didn't bounce.

A jagged, orange curve of the rim

is resting against the white baseboard now.

It looks like a broken rib, or a moon

that fell out of a dusty, crowded sky.

I’m just sitting here on the kitchen floor

watching the dirt spill across the linoleum.

It’s hard to start over when the vessel

wasn't as strong as the thing inside it.