The Iceplant

Two years old.
As I stared,
fascinated, at
the iceplant flowers,
Mom pulled on
the leash of
the harness I wore.
She didn't want
me to be stung by
the bees, who were
also fascinated.

Five years old.
As I played
with iceplant leaves,
crushing them to
extract the juice,
I saw in my mind
the image of an old
man in a skullcap,
strangely dressed,
working with
plant parts.

The iceplant, like
the lantana and
the star pine,
followed me
six thousand miles.
I have some very
old friends here.

11 Nov. 2016