Issue > Poetry
Mourner's Purple
Someone else's dog knocked
the African violet from my table. A few
fleshy leaves snapped off
but the rest stayed lush,
the consequences
of amputation slow to move
through green tissue.
The broken stems
remained full of fluid (repellent,
really, how they can rot
and shrivel at the same time.)
This plant demands coddling,
to be soaked in a warm sitz-bath
lest its plushy leaves, spattered
by cold drops, spot and suppurate.
I sweep up the gray dirt,
find I'm craving water. Hard rain
or warm puddle, doesn't matter.