the ghost orchid

ryki zuckerman

others are as pale 
as me, but they need 
green leaves to draw down
the sun.

i drink from fog
and hide in shade,
increasing my beauty
by peeking out from behind
a spanish moss fan.

when they come to look for me,
i hope they are kind.
when they rip me 
from my home,

i will wish i had something
to give them in return —
a scream, a slap,
a dose of poison.