Terrarium

Taken in, fed perlite and pebbles

so as to appear at rest on eggshells

or moons, then left to germinate

in my segregated cell, live on my own

vapors, as artificial light and heat

enter through a clear wall,

I remind the room of life at its largest,

though I’m small and tucked away.

Why should I mind being ignored

during business hours or belittled

for my ornamental nature?

Once a week I’m taken down,

my top’s removed, and it’s water,

water, water—or a mild toxin.

Waiting here, I know I’m not alone.

Copyright © 2019 by Will Schutt. This poem originally appeared in Smartish Pace. Used with the permission of the author.