ira writes

questions for aloe vera

if you rip
its roots from
the soil
have them stand
in your home
is it still a rose?

and if it’s still a rose,
do you think it
misses the sun
as it rises
reaching out to pat
      its head
every morning?

do you think it
finds our water
    refreshing?

do you think it misses
dancing with the
gentle hands of
        the wind?

does it find our walls
comforting
and our “welcome home”
mats as signs of safety
and solitude?

do roses feel
   anything at all?
does it mourn for its
   lost life?

perhaps misery loves
company and if
roses feel misery
then this place
in my space
is destiny is it not?

we can mourn
        together
and i’ll pretend that
its lack of dewey
dawn leaves
is a sign
of repressing.
and we can repress
together.

we can converse
and i’ll pretend its
silence is a sign
of active listening
and i’ll talk and
talk and talk and
talk and talk and
talk and talk
   and talk and
rant and talk and
chit chat as
i usually do.

and i’ll find its
aloof nature inspirational
and envy the strength
    of rose
as if my rambling
is inherent weakness.
i’ll ask rose to
teach me a thing
or two.
the sun will rise
again and i’ll
tell rose that it’s
okay.
i’ve been there too.
(we can ignore causes
in our moment of
shared empathy
and consider this
the beginning of a beautiful friendship).


anti-copyright ira gray