people say plants grow better if you talk, play music
or sing to them. i have only muted songs, pure touch
to moist dirt after a thunderstorm. tearing dried leaves
off the stems, i wonder if they hurt--do they eye me
with distance, or do they shake into their new lives,
ferocious spirits in my hand? i inherited the plants
from the ghost couple who haunted my rooftop until
they ran out of songs to sing. no one else, living or
dead, will share their stories with the plants & i hope
they are happy to have me.
Lovely, the history, the hope.
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