Something That Doesn't Need You

It's still alive on Marcus's desk,

skin the color of old paper,

spines gone thin as hair.

Nobody waters it.

Nobody remembers it's there

until the light hits it sideways

and the spines catch, briefly,

like it's trying to catch

someone's attention.

The pot's been dust for weeks.

Still standing.

I touched the soil.

Dust came off my fingers

all the way home.