After I became like you, hand
searching along the stair rail
for anything secure,
I moved the fern pot.
Took it from its place on the landing
in the path of questioning feet,
put it somewhere else.
Now I’ve forgotten to water it.
I’ve learned that fronds shrivel
when care is withdrawn,
attention marshaled on moving up,
feeling out one step at a time,
climbing in blind obedience
to that disappearing place.
flashquake, Summer 2008