Select Page
I once said I was a cactus
needing little love and tenderness
hardy; a survivor
used to droughts of love

I store the remains deep inside
for the days to come.

I wasn't born a cactus
prickly and guarded 
subborn and resistant

unhardened plants die in the cold
houseplants to the whims of their keepers
becoming scenery
to be glossed over
again and again
till your soil dries
your leaves dull and limp
crunching when they should not

another dead houseplant