Poetry 365

Sitting on the window sill, the sun lights it’s green
stalk, this bamboo learns how to climb. “you’ll never
stop me,” it shouts. My hand grips the curtain,
covering the window. The stalk now a deep, dark,
green. Growing in circles around itself. Water
droplets slide down, slowing as it hits indents
marking years in a bamboo’s life.
Alone in my cubical, mascara runs down
creases in my face. There is only artificial light
here, that I can’t escape. Crashing
comes the curtain, the bamboo is gone,
a loose screw.



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