bamboo

a few months back after

meeting a friend for coffee

i walked next door to a store

named i love plants or

something similarly sweet

and i bought a mid-size bamboo

not because it was perfectly

green and obviously thriving

in its terra cotta pot or because

it’s known to bring good luck

but because it reminded me of

clement street in sf where i learned

all the iterations of bok choy,

the real chinatown, locals said,

where they sold live fish and

i bought nori and wakame and

soybean cakes—my kids’

favorite snacks, back when

coming up with imaginative

yet practical snacks was the

extent of my creative output,

clement street that also had

a turkish shop with three

large ouds hanging in the

window, where we’d always

leave with faces covered in

powdered sugar from scarfing

down turkish delight, where we

first tried halva and tahina and

cardamom, so i bought the pert little

plant and placed her on a

cherry wood table with plenty

of ambient light and watered her

just the right amount, but over time

she started to droop, and talked

to her and tried to find a new place

but she drooped and she drooped

and i feared she wasn’t happy

and i wondered if she longed for

her rain forest roots here in the

desert air, maybe she missed the

smell of galangal and ginger and

lemongrass—ah lemongrass, so

tart and sweet and in a flash i’m