His finger thin leaves
fork out in all directions
as if waving hello or
merely stretching, feline
and lazy. I look at him
and my head feels like
home. Palm trees and sun
through paper thin eyelids.
His stalks are bisected
like bamboo. They cluster
with their feet almost touching
and limbs intertwining for
protection or for camouflage.
I cannot tell one from
another but I think
he likes that.
The corner of my desk was
empty without him and now
he spills out of it. He likes
the sun only now and then.
He needs when it filters through
the clouds. He drinks up water
like a hiker who has been
lost in the wild for days.
Greedy little thing.
He thinks quite highly of
himself, a little parlor palm.
Fancies himself a quaint
gentleman in his taupe home.
His pot of importance.
He doesn’t know that I love
All my companions equally.
The hand-painted koi and
the half burned candle and
the snow globe that swirls
With glitter instead of snow.
