Bamboo Plant

My bamboo sits on the corner
on the top shelf of my desk
ever silent in growth and shared time

You nameless beauty, a gift from my mother
you watched me break down countless times
we shared tears, tears which eventually
came to you from the cup I offered

The tips of your leaves yellow with age,
the cycle of life clearer on you than I
giving the facade of frailty
but we both know and understand the lie as it is

Your stems still tied together, bound in gold
in fear that you would leave me and run wild
bound since the day we met.

The air we share is sacred, a holy communal
fountain of life that we both die in
and are reborn in

My soul, bare and naked to none but you
and the dying cactus in the other corner
which wilted under my weight,
is a troubled tangle of vines that
once undone is redone by the harsh winds of time

When I talk myself out of madness, you listen
embracing my broken words and growing with them,
feeding off my sorrow as a parasite
eating at the brain of its benevolent host

Curse you, bamboo, the wisdom of mystical lands
in your roots, the life you give to those
around you is the same beautiful life
you steal from me, an empty promise

But despite our tragedies
we share an unbroken, trusting bond

When I come to you, naked, afraid
spouting a fountain of dirty air
as an evil cherub, gnawed by delusion

You clean me, wash my head and face
and clear the bad air between us,
taking it in to nourish, so I may come again