Dear friend,

While you're away
I am keeping
your potted plant

neatly bounded,
precisely watered,
and mostly alive.

It's on the floor
in my house,
unsettled.

I haven't made
a place for it
because

I know
what that
would mean.

This must end,
in one
of three ways:

One, you come
get your
damn plant.

Two, I put
your damn plant
on the curb.

Three, we get married
and your plant
becomes our plant

and my house
becomes our house
and these three lives

—yours, mine,
and the plant's—
become our life.

Let me know.
For now,
I'll keep it.