my tomato plant might be dying
rain spills like a heavy hand of spices,
drenching darkened buildings in sheets
of soupy relief. down here the leaves
and the ground and the trees have no
choice but to drink it all up, swallow it
whole like a fly caught in a carnivorous trap.
there’s no such thing as overwatering
in summer, for even the well-watered tomato
sapling i inherited still looks peaked—
crooked leaves dangle as he arches
his herbaceous back towards eventide’s sun.
doesn’t he know acting needy won’t
bring him any more rain than the rest of us?
4 thoughts on "my tomato plant might be dying"
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I really love how this plant sounds, not so much anthropomorphized, but like a stubborn and begging pet.
I really enjoyed some of the surprising ways you used language here, especially the line “crooked leaves dangle as he arches/his herbaceous back…”
Agree with Shaun. I especially liked:
“rain spills like a heavy hand of spices,”
I love “doesn’t he know. . . .”
Yes, he should know. The rest of us do.
This poem resonates on so many levels–enriched by such gorgeous imagery!