the opposite of seduction

is the way they dry out but grow imperceptibly – in spite
of mistreatment – still their protest at the progress of time?
for years I've been tipping the gunk from the cups – more coffee,
anyone? – into the pots, or they wouldn't get watered for weeks
at all. slack, woody stalks in what might be earth.
amazing they still grow, or pretend to: they parody life.
and into my back they mutely prop their wobbly swords,
levered out en route between offices. they lean back
in corners, busy with photosynthesis and being dismal.
what seconds ago was cooling the processor, our eight-hour lungs
now use. what plant's that then? heidi brought it.
dogs have been bred without fur before, they have,
but plants without leaves? I stand in front of this plant
and into the whirr of the computer I say:
"I will dwell in the house of the lord forever."
and think through the gentle swaying outside, the leaves,
the leaves, moved in formation, among their purple peers,
and this one ugly plant here as a figure of redemption, such that we are all,
all resurrected into an obsolete age in which we neither sow
nor harvest but only abide, in the opposite of seduction. yeah,
they all say: "my turn to bring the peat tomorrow!"
tomorrow comes, and no one brings peat.

Monika Rinck * audio

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