The Wait & The Welcome

last summer
we sowed lemon seeds
in a plastic pot kept on the balcony rails.
it had been empty for a while,
and pigeons idled
on its edges, pecking
at the sun-hardened soil.
twigs of grass broke out
of the soil and perished
on its own. mostly torn away
by pigeons and squirrels to
cushion their modest nests.

for months after, with dots of green
hovering low over moist soil, we kept
it covered with a wicker basket
lest it became nests in no time.
and shooed all birds and squirrels
from the resting shades of our balcony
through four quarters of a day.

it's close to a year now, and the
plant has grown to a couple feet.
it has climbed past the balcony rails,
as a soft green wing hangs out
from our fourth-floor apartment.
its leaves big with prominent veins,
and stems, mud-laced, tad too thick
for pigeons to be beaked home,
to be chewed by squirrels.

now a steady rain continues to fall outside
and i watch the tendril bounce in the torrent.
the leaves washed, look like the delicate green
of its birthing days. a lone pigeon leaps up
from the ledge. its feathers damp, and perches on the pot
to drink from the puddle at the plant’s root.
the squirrel too is back, and is waiting at the rails.
it lifts its dark-buttoned eyes to my
unhurried face and waits. i wait too.
almost holding my breath.
then it slowly scurries over to the pot
and drinks the rain.

- Sobhan