I grow them.
Stunted stems, shriveled leaves-
Not really a garden, only an effort
to rouse a deadened room
5 pepper plants, all in a meager pot.
Stems too weak to bear the weight,
they crawl along the rocky earth,
Green tendrils only ever brushing
the golden warmth that barely
streams in through the window.
Confined, with nowhere to go.
But I water them and nurture
them and make them a bit more
Alive than they would be, and
they do the same for me, in the
Clarity of their lives, in the
Reassurance of their existence.
In the serenity that they inhabit,
They grow me.