When I See a Leaf

By | 13 May 2024

when I see a leaf, I nod at it.
when it’s basil, I drop it in a pot
and cook myself something good.

I might share this.
I might invite everyone I know over
all at once.
this would be impractical,
everyone squeezed together, one

we swim in oxytocin — 
when I say, pass the salad,
fifty or more hands reach
and those same fifty
hand me my greens.

when someone talks,
heads turn with unconventional attention,
giving the speaker space to
spill their heart
and retrieve the feeling of home.

one woman named Anastasia
splays her unrequited love bare.
it’s an incoherent story.
she cries, breathes deeply.
no one looks frustrated
or checks the time
instead, we wash her in there, there’s
dab her eyes with a napkin,
and add avocado to
her salad.

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