Draped in shadows, a pale Birchwood table
Mirrors the soft hues of the desert beyond.
It proudly supports a solitary houseplant,
Modest in size, assertive in presence.
Glossy blue-green leaves, gracefully arching,
Reach toward the waning light.
Amidst lush foliage, white spathes bloom,
Like flags of surrender unfurled.
Vaguely Japanese in essence,
An unexpected presence in this Southwest room.
Its name eludes me,
Yet hums a familiar note.
The Truth About Tigers 