Death of a Houseplant by Tobias Maxwell

I watered you for 34 years,

Repotted and trimmed your leaves,

Fed you fertilizer and let the sun

Have its way with you all day long.

 

You spent winters indoors and summers

In Los Angeles on my balcony.

You adapted to Canadian winters

By relinquishing half your soul.

 

Gifted to me as a cutting,

You taught me patience and hope,

When not to water too much or too little,

To only worry when it was warranted.

 

Two days ago, all your foliage dropped dead

Molted like I’d done something terribly wrong.

When I came to repot you I discovered mush

Where the mystery of roots should have been thriving.

 

What can you say about the death of a houseplant?

An inanimate, lush green object

That lived and breathed my air and brought

Richness in my life. Must find the word.

About the Poet:

Tobias Maxwell is the author of three novels, The Month After September, Thomas, and The Sex and Dope Show Saga; a novella, And Baby Makes Two; four memoirs, Naked Ink, Diary of a Smalltown Boy, Vol. 1 & 2, 1973—Early Applause, 1977—The Year of Leaving Monsieur, and 1983—The Unknown Season; as well as a poetry collection, Homogium.