The House Plant
Her possessor won’t let her grow
beyond his conservative outlook.
Her taproot is chained in the pot.
Even her pale patches
Living among the plastic plants
She’s denied sunny kisses.
Rain’s romantic whisperings,
she’s never exposed to such ecstasies.
Her wound attracts insects.
But she cannot allure any butterfly.
Flowering is not even in her dream.
A humdrum existence.
If she’ll deviate from the fixed pattern,
a callous trimmer is always ready.