And I am washed up again on the shore that is the green armchair
by its side table arrayed with my convalescent plants
What, you too?
The ones who got too little, too much, or at the wrong time
stunted little alocasia who bent full over to burst one new leaf
from her one living stem
Exhausting, this whole business of renewal
and the banana palm I nearly killed trying to kill its plague of mites
as cures go I’m worse than the disease
Death to what? What’s the motto?
I don’t want. I don’t want. Not being a Buddhist
this always sounded like recalcitrance.
Now dear, don’t be difficult.
I thought I was one of the hard to kill ones, good with whatever
until I nearly whatevered a pothos to death too
I don’t want. I couldn’t hear the freedom beyond that final T
barring strangers from a room of my own
the period’s full stop turning the window sign to CLOSED
I don’t want is a cardboard box kissing the curb
full of what could not bring me use or delight
while new breathing space moves like a child
through my finite sunlit rooms.
Chiara Di Lello is a queer writer and educator. She loves coffee, art, and bees, and unequivocally supports the movement for Palestinian liberation. Her chapbook, CHILDLESS MILLENNIAL, is forthcoming from Game Over Books in 2026. Born and raised in New York City, she now resides in the so-called Hudson Valley. necessarymess.wordpress.com.