My Bromeliad is dying,
its soft pink heart distant
from the crimson shade it used to bear.
Its instructions were to water it twice a week,
wipe down its thick, broad leaves
to keep them green, and I did,
but like the violet Orchid and Weeping Fig
that came before, no amount of nourishment was enough
to make it thrive. I’ve never had any
formal training in plant care,
and though each dead petal discourages
me more and more, I still search
for the perfect palm, that rich shade
of green that stays deep, emerald
like a jewel reaching out
from beneath the soft earth.

06/22/2005

Posted on 06/23/2005
Copyright © 2025 Malika Bierstein