Green Fur

I opened the container, pushed way in the back.

That faint, sweet-sour scent, a quiet, green attack.

It used to be rice. Now, a plush, velvet hill.

Fuzzy, bright green, utterly still.

Like a tiny alien landscape, thriving, fat and fed.

On neglect, on leftovers, on words I never said.

It had its own weather, its damp, private sky.

A whole small world, beneath my unblinking eye.

How long? I wondered. How long had it grown?

This silent garden, so perfectly unknown.

I sealed it again, just for a moment's grace.

Some things you just can't bring yourself to face.