living thing

i am growing a new heart

in a glass jar with water

like last summer, placing the butt of dying celery in a jar and it sprouted newness

it’s a living thing.

i am a simple housepant.

i just need sun and water and a weekly whisper of sweet words

good job.

i love you.

you’re doing great.

and when i start to wilt, when i feel parts of me go limp, my edges curling in on myself, i reach out a tendril to whoever is passing by

psst…don’t forget about me.

sometimes i want to flower and bear fruit but honestly, that drains me, so i keep my family small

i feed the mycelium under my feet and i press my face against the window in the summer and i lose bits and pieces of myself in the winter. each year is a surprise even though the pattern never changes. goldfish brain, i tell people. we forget the tools we use to stay alive. the $100 happy light that stares at me on the desk remains off because i am stubborn. because i’d rahter be in flush in a jungle than bathing in artificial light and it’s all nonsense, these feelings.

but i am a living thing so they are here to stay.

i’ll eventually get over my tantrum and turn on the light and i’ll feel somewhere in between darkness and the jungle and that’s good enough for now. these in between places are where most of life happens. everything else is a funeral or a vacation. places that we aren’t meant to be in for too long.