The spider plant sits
on the wobbly brown
stand near the window.
The battered brass pot
reflects light in patches,
speedily wrapping
stray rays of sun
around its faded base.
The apartment window overlooks
the balcony that overlooks
the numbered expanse
of the parking lot.
I stand near the sagging overgrowth
as the water weight
collapses gaps in the soil,
re-setting small grains of earth
around the anonymous,
aging rosette.
1 comment:
hi. you are a very good poet sarah. do you remember that first christmas years ago when i drew your name?
i tired to write a poem the other day...on my blog, you might have seen it...anyway...hope you are well.
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