zamioculcas zamiifolia
for Zeus
O goodness you must be so proud, she said —
Voice muffled by the humid air in there,
The giant shining leaves between her head
And mine, the murmur of the shop — while bare
And coiled your roots clung to familiar soil.
So happy, healthy! But to me you looked
Uptight, forlorn; for too long kept in too
Tight quarters on the corner of my book
Shelf (so for company but Montesquieu,
Berlin, no livelier); the light too dim.
You take such care, and I can tell. Can tell
Your dirt is dark with water poured in haste
Just hours ago, the first all month? And hell,
That this new terra cotta is a waste
If I can’t keep you living week to week?
I wandered, browsed the bonsai, gave her chance
To tactfully pluck off a shrivelled leaf
Behind my back, to spritz the rest. A glance
At tiny cedars, oaklings, worth the grief
And cost, if one can bear their certain loss.
All done, and much more comfortable! And yes:
Reclined in incandescent light you seemed
Content — or less resigned at least, I guess,
Returned beside our fifth floor window, leaned
Toward the sun in loose–packed earth — to grow.