Do not piss off the fern.
She knows her leaves are paling,
but is not thirsty.
She spits back up what she drank,
causing the hardwood floor to change color,
soaking in what the fern refused.
I hear the water spill into the vent and rush with rags,
realizing that the fern is angry with me,
as I move her clumsily,
dripping on the way to the kitchen sink.
She spews leaves all over the counter,
and into the double sinks
where the chicken is defrosting for dinner.
This is her laughing at me –
my rushed attempts at maintaining order.
And she knows that I know that I am killing her.
And she laughs leaves all over the floor,
as I wonder why it is taking so long.
everything here copyright anna kiss