All of her plants had first names
She’d water them
And pluck their dead leaves
She’d coo
To them
Carressing them
As she stared out the window
At the silent
Railroad tracks
Their dirt smelled good
She couldn’t help herself
Taking a pinch of soil
From each pot
Putting it in her mouth
Chewing slowly
Enjoying
The earthy loam
She was a spinster
Spending all of her time alone
In her apartment
With her topiaries
Succulents
Herbs
And palms
She ate the dirt daily
She thought about it while at work
Sometimes
Pressing her tongue to her teeth
During the busride
Working out any remains
Of potting soil
As the other commuters
Worked on coffee
Or breakfast
Paying her
No attention
No comments:
Post a Comment