A Slight Shift

Morning light touched the tabletop. I felt the steady, cool weight resting inside my crown—the white pot and its pale green leaves. Slowly, carefully, I shifted my skeletal fingers against my cheeks. They yielded. I adjusted my posture just a fraction of an inch against the dark glossy surface, watching my faint reflection move beneath me. Overhead, the lowermost leaf swayed slightly from the motion. The soil felt damp and alive. I remained still, holding it steady.