Out Like a Lamb

Apology to an Orchid

I have no idea how to keep you,
o gift of violaceous
fancypotted fancyplants

trellised, tied, a leaning Pisa gentrifying space
once occupied by swags of silken rose,
molded paper apples in a wicker basket

         Vestiges of mom's refusal to own the living
         they attract bugs, contain dirt, require care
         so when she died, the fake & plastic first to go

now, you: it's do not this and danger that
and I'm afraid your chances dimmed
the day you came (I'm sure against your heady will)

I shrug and tell you best of luck, my perennial pal
Endeavoring to nurture, I may fertilize you
right out of your herbaceous existence.

note ▼

April 2—Focus on a leaf or a flower…