Avoidance
My house
is an IKEA garden.
Polyester palms
in doorways.
Synthetic succulents
lining windowsills
like guards.
In the apartment we shared,
there were natural flowers.
Birthday Tulips
that whispered promise.
Let-it-go lilies that latched
onto flimsy heartstrings.
Life’s easier now,
I tell myself,
with this artificialness of mine.
Better,
with this plastic
that keeps its promise
to never wilt.