| Sunday, December 02, 2007 |
| Survival |
A cactus is easy. You water it when it occurs
to you. An ashy green akin to jade
means it's OK, forget it for a few more weeks.
It has the distinction
of being the only plant in the house.
All others died quickly or were eaten,
with the exception of a miniature
rosebush which he bought me in the spring.
That struggled hard to live
like a teen caught in a riptide.
Today one of its two big stalks
hangs like a sad phallus.
The skin is soft and patchy, dark spots
like a dead body
I touch my hand to a spine, press,
and my fingers go right through.
Its twin persists, hard and erect,
more than detached,
singular. As though it is,
and always was, the only one. |
posted by rebeccacalvetti @ 8:24 PM   |
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Name: rebeccacalvetti
Home: Cleveland, Ohio, United States
About Me: I got brunette hair which goes dirty blonde under the sun. I have green eyes and am not particularly short or tall. People who have seen me in a two-piece or less say I have fine decolletage.
See my complete profile
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