potted

a gift plant protests on the periphery

hidden from care by a plastic look

its soil ravished to ash powder.

one leaf trades sheen for liver spots

an overripe banana look so

probably the whole thing’s fucked.

lord let me not be potted

let me fasten in real earth—

but if I must creep out

through drainage holes

that won’t expand around me

let me be cared for by one who knows

when to smash the vessel

when to extract me from it.