I watched it wilt and drop its seeds--
a last-ditch effort to procreate
on my dining room table.
I watched the leaves shrivel--
unquenched.
And the stems wrinkle
from the dark.
I let your plant die
the same way
you let us die.
Unwatered.
Unfed.
Oxygen isn’t the only requirement
for life.
I let your plant die
because I needed a metaphor
to understand
how something good
could be discarded so easily.
How patient the plant sits
and makes excuses
to live another day without sun.