the potted plant

you try
so hard to
keep that plant
alive. with water
and turning
it towards
an unseen sun
in the too low
windowed sky.
that gift from
nearly a year
ago, so vibrant
and strong,
but wilting now,
bent brown.
it lingers in
perpetual silence
with soft
green eyes.
we have no
small talk
between us
when passing by,
with me doing
things that need
to be done,
and that perhaps,
in my way
of thinking,
is partly, if
not all,
the reason why.