Few of us could bear to have ourselves for neighbors.
I feel like I could practically write a poem about this poem. A poem about noticing and then looking again. A poem about neighbors and connection and anonymity and the effort that it takes to reach across such a small distance. (A poem that wonders what if she had tried to give him the tomato plant?)
to the neighbor who keeps watering my tomato plant
by Amanda Williams
I am trying to let it die. We are moving in a few weeks
and I know I will forget to water it, to re-home it in the soil
of our new yard. I figured I’d let it shrivel now, and have one less thing
to haul up into the musty truck, one less item to cross off my packing list
and one less strain on arm, back. But every few days I catch a glimpse
of you from my living room window, bent over the small plant as if scolding
a young child, urging it to grow. You pick up the pollen-dusted watering can
left on its side under a bike wheel, take it into your apartment to fill it.
At first I felt violated, annoyed even, at your taking of my can,
your spontaneous husbandry of my plant, for I truly felt my neglect
read the rest here
Sloth Reads has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Rebecca!