Unlush
on the kitchen windowsill,
denuded of falsely
shimmering flowers,
you show your many flat
faces to the world.
In sun, almost lovely,
you soak yourself dry.
I water you and do not miss
the noisy, white-tipped
tongues and flaccid trumpets
you shed for me.
I neither feed you
nor do you harm. I like to see you,
rid of your arrival's pink distractions,
coming up green and
green again, stubborn, ugly,
and as you are.
|