At the center of your life, you’re creating forest air
in a friend’s apartment. You place a ceramic bowl
beside each plant pot & pour water. Humidity,
the dewy breath of company. Of imaginary beings
sipping from the bowl little by little. You refill,
wonder where clouds form in this water cycle?
Wonder where everyone’s gone to? Last night
you dreamt & remembered everything
come morning. The neighbor girl, first love,
carpool, cousins of your cousins.
You welcomed them in the basement level
of your childhood home. Blurry, how familiar you are
to people of the past. You called everyone’s name
first & last, served water
by collecting the stream from a leaking pitcher.
Everything is so tedious, but you stay still
in this place that keeps you. When those you dream of
forget the skyline & the exact hours when it’s blue
& blush & gray & coin all at once,
know home is truly where
every bench you sit on faces the river & where
a samoyed will sniff your shoelaces. It’s nice
to be the one to depend on
to cherish the little reasons & the future
of one’s roots. You fill each bowl
set beside each plant pot & message your friend
to say everything’s been cared for.
Shannon Pulusan is a Fil-Am writer, illustrator, plant tita, and arts education administrator based in Jersey City. Her poetics explore how foodways, superstition, and the natural world can offer reparative insight and joy. Her poems appear in Ecotone, Pigeon Pages, SRPR, underblong, and more. She has received support from ARTS by the People, Bread Loaf Environmental Writers’ Conference, and Brooklyn Poets, and holds an MFA in Poetry from Rutgers University-Newark.