by Sangita Kalarickal
Eden Prairie, Minnesota, USA
My Monstera Deliciosa looks sad. The leaves are starting to yellow. I glance at it, note the stressed, drooping foliage. I have to deal with it, I know, but there are so many things to tackle first. My dinner is on the stove and I have reports to finish. I can get to it later.
Some days in, the plant almost screams at me. The leaves have started to curl. I have a look. Again. Thrips. Darn these stubborn bugs. I need to deal with them soon. But first, the sink is full of dishes and my day job peeks through my free time.
The leaves now fall away from the branches. New shoots struggle to survive, and fail. I try to give the plant some care. But it’s too late.
Too late.
an unending tunnel
to unbearable darkness
the pills in her palm
masquerading
a shining beacon
failed haiku, Feb 2023