A whole poem
	About a spider plant?
	Who would
	Read it, anyway?
	Yet--what a
	To narrow down
	One's point of view,
	To just one
	Billowing basketful
	Of greenery!
	The metaphor is there:
	Slender, lissome leaves,
	Arching like
	Verdant meteors,
	Streaking forth
	From one central sun--
	These are our
	Thousand thousand
	Lives, each
	Arranged in pirouette
	About a Master Soul
	Too deep to see.
	And, randomly
	Shooting forth
	As well, are
	Stalks whose end-
	Points explode
	Into baby-souls
	With lives
	Of their own--
	These are
	Our most important lives
	By which we
	Leave the Universe
	(And ourselves)
	Forever changed.
	So, spider plant,
	Whose soul are you?
	And on whose stalk
	Does my own
	Paltry life
	Precariously cling?

1/25/81 - 2/17/81

© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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