Lost in the desert
Weary and thirsty
I approached a flock of
Cacti
Spotted with fruit
One Cactus invited me
To reach for its fruit
To quench
The permeating dehydration
That has hindered my growth
But the blazing sun
Burned
And the Cactus’ thorns
Ruptured my leaves
And left them in bits
See, I am not a Cactus
I’m a Calathea in a desert
Highly sensitive to scarcity
Or excess
Of water and sun
If rightly nurtured
My leaves unfurl
And reveal
A dance of colors
That soften and enrich the land
So I turned to leave
In search
Of a more habitable environment
Where movement and growth
Were natural
But the Cactus
Urged me to stay
Because it liked my complexions
And my willing leaves
Soothed its rough environment
Remove some thorns, I asked
So I may approach your fruit
I can live a life of survival
By your side
If it will be sweet
The Cactus refused
Thorns were common here
It was I who was sensitive
It was I who needed to understand
To adjust
My punctured double-sided leaves
Purple and green and bleeding
Taught me of
Pain
And the complexities of being
So I asked the Cactus instead
Share a fraction
Of your retained water or
Make for me
A small space of shade
But the Cactus refused again
Its habit of survival
In harsh conditions
Did not allow sharing
Or an expansion of form
I can only offer my fruit
Said the cactus
All you need to do
Is stretch your leaves
And reach it
Look around you
All plants here have thorns
All keep
Their resources close
For themselves
I looked around
And saw that it was so, but then
Finally
I looked at myself
And remembered
I am not a Cactus, I am a Calathea
My natural environment is not harsh
But supple
Where all plants stretch and
Move together
To soften the elements
And I wonder how I ended up
Here
Surrounded by Cacti
Reaching out
For their distant fruit
Being told
To change my form
And damage my leaves
Just so I could share
My complexions
With stringent plants
That refuse to grow
That will watch me
Perish
From thorns and dehydration
So
Quietly
I curled up my leaves
And
Left
