Pothos
The pothos unfurls
down my bookshelf
tracing well-worn spines
the way you caressed
my tiny fingers
as we turned the pages
together, soaking up words
I had yet to understand.
When I discovered their meaning,
I lost myself in their overgrown
yet barren landscapes,
while you waited
patiently, tending to this pothos
withered and brown, rot
decisively cut from knotted
roots, replanted in fresh soil.
I re-emerge to watch it now
turn toward the open window,
reminded of how
a dying plant can still be saved
to flourish in a wild sprawl
of green heart-shaped leaves.
*
Mihan Han lives in Toronto, Canada. His work has previously appeared in Ricepaper Magazine, The Heron’s Nest, Frogpond, Modern Haiku and various other publications. He is an avid gamer and amateur musician.
