for Alex T.
a golden shovel after a line in ‘Gitanjali 73’ by Tagore
The plant trimming requires no
less than its water to be changed weekly. I
ask my friend who gifted it to me: when will
I be able to transfer it into soil? She has never
told me anything but the truth. I don’t shut
the window blinds now; my Plant-Friend loves the
sun too much. I’ve been leaving the doors
open too; the spirits flit more freely now. Yes, of
course I’m afraid of death, but no less so my
own life. A friend can bring you back to sweeter senses.
Copyright © 2025 by Tarfia Faizullah. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on May 22, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.
