Breach

Behind the pedestal of the porcelain sink

where the pipe has a slow, steady weep,

a pale green shoot is starting to think

it has a promise it’s meant to keep.

It’s pushing up through the grout and the dirt,

a jagged, white-veined, leafy head.

It doesn’t care that the tiles might hurt

or that the light in the corner is dead.

I should probably pull it, should spray it with lye,

but I like how it’s breaking the floor.

It’s the only thing here that’s trying to try

while I’m just staring at the back of the door.