For almost a month
I’ve
been
look-
ing
up
to
see
buds
emerge
ever
so
slowly.
But yesterday my brother pulled my gaze downward
to the century plant’s deathbed
as from inside out
from stems to spikes
it sighs in husks
like parchment
spent and spiny.
All its vitality now
speeds skyward
to fingers
splayed
to grasp toward heaven and a pledge of life
while far far below
still jealous in its guard
it will not suffer
what comfort
I might
offer.
I might offer.