The Theology of a Houseplant

The Theology of a Houseplant

I should have known
this ochre moon’s
secret rhymed with

leaf’s impossible angle.  
Underbelly script.
Finger outstretched,
I trace the vein
skin to skin.
As if to palm read,
at last to grasp that

I should have known
this ochre moon’s
secret rhymed with

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Our fiddle leaf fig (thriving) strongly prefers looking at the sky instead of our dining room table. This gives us the great pleasure of front-row seats to the leaves’ mosaic backside. The vein lines shooting out from the midrib appear to be some puzzle, almost as if they could assembled into meaning. This poem supposes that they mean inherently and that engaging with them at all is the act of meaning-making. It is also in conversation with this poem from months ago which reflects on the nature of fractals:

The leaf of
the leaf of 
the fern
is a fern.

There’s something in here about the idea of refrain and rhyme. The radical patterning that occurs in the natural world and the way the brain seems to relish in repetition (song choruses, parallel lines, meditative mantras, etc.) What is it about repeating and paradox that gives some level of comfort with the unknown? It’s not knowledge… it’s something else.

Thanks for reading.