Recognition

When some plants need repotting, 
they send out signals: drops of moisture 

along a leaf blade, a sudden autumn 
of leaves at their base. No one says

this is metaphor, though I too have taken 
such liberties, assigning meaning where

it did not necessarily originate. But
when it comes, it brings with it a shock 

of recognition. Other times, I look dumbly 
at the face in front of me, wondering where 

I first encountered it. The girl at the grocery 
checkout counter prompts me to enter my phone 

number; I stare at my reflection on the chrome 
surfaces, my fingers hovering over the keypad.