Cathexis Northwest Press

© 2018 

Yellow Cactus

The window is a plant

hospital, small huddle of yellow


green things, nameless leaves 

curling against the cold. 


February has ended. I am,

again, responsible for the poorly


potted, the living. The cactus 

can hardly hold its hands up, 


elbows drooping limp over metal

stakes, it hobbles on haphazard


crutches against a draft 

of wind. Yellow Cactus, you


brave thing, the only one of your kind

to survive the winter. Your blue


green brother rests his empty limbs,

unrooted on the kitchen counter.


The hearty aloe hangs heavy and dry. 

I can’t stop killing what I love,


I’m careless, spend the cold 

months sleeping. But you,


you enter the dream 

as though you’d been there



Christie Towers is a poet and educator living in the Boston area. Her work can be found in Narrative, Nimrod, Belle Ombre, Bodega, SummerStock Journal and others.