Light Loving Plant

I have a plant.
It’s maroon leaves open to the light,
glowing translucent.
They perch on thin wiggly stalks,
delicate.

They were withering, dying,
on the table in my room.
I moved the struggling three stalks,
unknowing and hoping,
to the windowsill.

There are many now thriving
while more push through,
bathing and rejoicing in the light.

At night their leaves close gently,
resting.

Old Western Cemetery

I want to tell you about a space
of birdsong oasis.
I carry it throughout the day after I leave
as I trudge past roaring cars, rushing.

I want to tell you about where the trees hug close
overarching, encircling.
Where life natural teems for all
in this tattered, cluttered city.

I want to tell you about a secret surprise
nestled next to the clogged roads.
Oh old Western Cemetery, I carry you deep and close
because you light my walks, you light my days.