A plant adorned an unused fireplace
so that its leaves appeared to be green fire,
burning from a wicker-woven base,
striving, as plants do, for growing higher,
but also spreading, spilling, on the floor,
its stems and leaves extending left and right
like smoke expanding from a blazing core,
and though that fire gave no heat and light,
it warmed my soul and lit a darkened mood
as blazing plant life in an office meeting
where I was forced to sit for hours glued,
immersed in artificial light and heating.
I’m thankful for small beauties in my days,
as when a plant impersonates a blaze.

A plant which had convinced me it was real,
in fact was fake: I touched synthetic leaves
and then could easily and quickly feel
that it was false, yet part of me believes
that it was true, though not as it had seemed,
for in an office gloom it could inspire,
and in this I felt it had been redeemed,
and I could not regard it as a liar.
When man-made things impersonate a plant,
we may be disappointed as I was,
because it had deceived me, yet I can’t
resent it, noticing the good it does:
I felt the leaves and found that they were fake,
but there’s true beauty in what people make.


Mario A. Pita

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