Resilience

My basil-green leaves sprout from sandy soil,

a deep vein of emerald grooving along the thick, padded spade.

My paddles navigate sage- and olive-tinted desert dunes.

I am as resilient as a fern.

Dusky and shadowed, lit-from-within lines of chartreuse and lime,

appearing spiky and bumpy but soft to the touch.

My spirit has existed since jungle hues ruled connected land.

I am as resilient as a snake plant.

Coiling and writhing up from the earth, dark forest bands swirling with white,

rimmed with dappled avocado sun, like ripples on land.

My tongue is sharp, and my words are acid green.

I am as resilient as a succulent.

Greyed hunter, laurel tan, crocodile lime, army kale,

fleshy and thickened, strong and full.

My flesh contains enduring love, stored for all in need.