Regrets

A short poem

This poem was written during a bout of down feelings. In late winter, before there are seedlings to tend, the houseplants are the only plants I touch. This poem was written during that time—perhaps that’s why I used them metaphorically here for the clinging regrets that I, as we all do, carry with me.

Regrets

Sick house plants
carried with a sense
of obligation from house
to house—I water them
in their plastic pots
and the flushing runs
right through, framed
by sallow yellow leaves
breaking and littering
as they reach up towards.

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