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.