Philomena
Oh! Hello there. You are coming home with me.
Kayla felt slight guilt as she knelt down and picked up the Philodendron piece from the floor of the home improvement store.
It's technically not stealing, right? I mean, scraps like this are just going to be swept up at closing time and tossed in the trash, right? What a waste. I'm actually rescuing it if you think about it. Yeah.
She carefully tucked the heart-shaped piece into her hoodie pocket.
On the drive home to her tiny apartment, she placed her passenger on the dashboard and excitedly brought her up to date on all things Kayla.
“…and I am soooo close to graduating. And when I do, I'm definitely gonna land a kick ass job somewhere — maybe even in one of these places,” She gestured upward toward the towering glass buildings as she drove through the medical center streets. “And you're coming with me, of course. You are going to have your very own spot on my desk!”
Kayla prattled on, feeling excited for the future and surprisingly, a lot less lonely all of a sudden. It felt good to speak her hopes and dreams out loud— even if only to a drooping leaf.
When they got home, Kayla placed her new roommate in a glass of water and set her on the kitchen window sill. She made a mental note to pick up some potting soil soon.
It will be so nice to have someone to talk to for a change. Now, she needs a name. Hmm…
Kayla smiled as it came to her.
“I hereby dub thee Philomena. For it is a strong name and a good name for a friend.”
Last night I visited your home in my dreams 6-27-21
There were those potted plants out front, just like I saw them when I left your home for the last time some years ago now.
You were not home.
Just as well.
I don’t need your presence to still feel the fear that sliced through me that soulless night.
I gave myself a tour- the one you never gave me. And beyond this dreamscape of your bedroom I saw blackness. Because I cannot imagine a “normal” home for you.
That would make you human. And I've been demonizing you for years.
Besides, how can you forgive a demon?
You can’t.
So I visited your home and tried to see a home where a human lived, one with flaws but a capability for goodness.
And there you were, so fucked up from war and weary of the world that you turned to writing and women. Two loves you held, but were never humble enough to admit that you had anything to learn from. Only arrogant enough to believe you had more to give (knowledge) and much to take (sex and accolades).
So is it any surprise you found a kind faced girl, with big blue eyes to wet your appetite and fill your ego?
Is it any wonder that it is easy to hate you more, thinking of you as human, because that would mean you can choose to do better, but you didn’t?
You chose to show me darkness, not even letting me see the man who carefully, gently cared for those beautiful potted plants out front.
The ones that have mocked me in my nightmares ever since.
Heliocentric
I am one of the beautiful people. I feel pretty. People admire me. People want to be by me. They want to be me. It's the nature of us beautiful people. I am unique. There is no one else who looks like me.
I was a late blossom, but when I did...just Wow! Stunning. The focus of all in the room.
I look about me smugly and proud. Hubris isn't necessarily a bad thing.
But when I look about me, I see the light. I appraise those around me in shadow, with snark and disdain, because I am surrounded by dirt. And we're all in the same pot. And the worms will eat all of us eventually.
Hybrid Swiss Cheese.
Why do you do all your thinking on a treadmill?
How do you know that?
The note pad and pen,duh.
No wonder your ideas don't get anywhere.
You come into the boardroom sweating with a towel around your neck.
Whats up with that?
I'm perspiring ideas.
I get my heart rate at a certain pace,then i slow it down,and all these moments of clarity come to me.
You're ideas stink,and so do you.
Why don't you get a shower before you sit with us at the table!
Speaking of perspiring ideas!
The life of a potted plant!
Do you think there's an audience for that?!
Is this a autobiography of you?
What do you mean?
What I mean is that a potted plant is a plant that just takes up space,just like yourself.
Actually you remind me of a potted plant.
You sit next to the window all day staring outside!
Why are you pouring water over your self?!
It's hot in here.Too much heats not good!
Where are you going?
Why are you going under your desk!?
I need shade!
Oh my god!
Do you see what's happening here?
You're turning into an actual friggin potted plant!
That's why when I walked in your office the other day you were spraying your self!
I thought it was deodorant!
But I know it wasn't deodorant because like I said before you stink!
Why are you slapping your face!?
Don't tell me you have bugs?
What do you mean?
The other day Dave passed me in the hall way and he said you smelled off.
And i thought,you always smells off.
Then it came to me,Dave said you smelled like Off.
Take your clothes off!
I'm hot enough as it is!
That's not what I mean!
I want to check you for bites.
Give me your clothes.
Why do you have holes in the bottom of your shoes?
And your socks are soaked!
This is very serious!
I have no other choice but to!
But to what!?
I know a person who can help us.
Come on! Get in the car!
Why are you going into that parking lot?
Composting Facility!!!
To be continued.
Pot plant ponderings
I've got to be honest Rudy. I am not loving this new, restrictive box you've put me in. There's barely any room to stretch out my roots and I had aspirations of growing into quite the large plant. You see my uncle was huge! He once took over an entire back yard, choking out everything else that was growing there and even half burying the house.
You've made that impossible - with this awful, plastic pot. The water doesn't even drain through. Its just sits around my roots. You probably think that's fantastic Rudy, but let me tell you - it feels rather like being water-boarded. Like you can't ever get a full breath of air.
And I've not had a single bird visit, or felt the bliss of direct sunlight on my leaves since you shoved me in the far corner of your living room. I'm not a blooming mushroom Rudy! Have you heard of a little process called photosynthesis? I've listened to you bragging on the phone about how you are quite the green thumb, but I am yet to see a single hint of any gardening talent at all. I need sunlight to grow Rudy - not just that rather tasty fish bone spray you reluctantly give me every six months or so.
Also, I've got bad news for you Rudy. That lady friend you keep inviting over - well, she is definitely stepping out on you. I heard her on the phone the other day practically purring at some other poor sod. I can't say I'm surprised. You do seem like a very plain looking fellow. In the plant world, you'd probably be some sort of succulent - you've got that fleshy look about you.
She looks more like a mistletoe herself - she'll latch onto anything alive and hang around just long enough to suck the life out of it. You'd be well rid of her, if you'd only listen to me. But you never seem to. I'm practically yelling at you most of the time, but either you pretend not to hear, or you're too busy listening to that awful 70's pop on repeat. I promise you it doesn't make you either cool or edgy, neither do the piercings or tattoos. Just go and find yourself another nice succulent and you'll be happy as a sprout in compost. Nobody ever survives a mistletoe.
On that note, I think I rather like the look of that new peace lily you brought home from the market - the one you put next to the piano. Would you mind moving me a little bit closer - I'd like to see if they'd be open to some cross-pollination, if you know what I mean. I'm due to flower any day now, if I can just get enough energy from the refracted sunlight (you really do make it difficult for me Rudy).
I've had some serious conversations with the cactus on the windowsill as well - although we do rather have to shout to make each other heard. You need to stop overwatering us Rudy. I've seen you drink quantities of liquids that would put a weeping willow or a mangrove to shame (particularly that strange stuff in the brown bottles - called Beer), but if I'm not out in the full sun, then I don't need watering every third day. I tried by best to let you know - with the drooping leaves and the discolouration - but all you did was water me more. So please stop. Steve the cactus is only one more water away from asphyxiation. He's a darn desert plant Rudy! He thrives off neglect. All your fussing is going to kill a practically unkillable plant.
There should be a special place in hell for humans that are serial plant murders - there really should.
Oh, there you go Rudy, out the door again. Humans - always rushing off somewhere, never any time to put down roots, or enjoy the kiss of a beam of sunshine. And always so gosh darn noisy. I'll try him again when he gets back...maybe next time I'll get him to listen. Really, he's got ears as big as corn and he doesn't hear a thing that's important.
The Value of Plant Life
When the conversation
turns ugly,
veers into
politics,
steers toward
my-way-or-
the-highway
rhetoric,
I often
become that
potted plant
and quietly
fade out of
a hostile conversation.
I choose my battles
carefully,
unwilling to
jeopardize
a friendship
or kinship
just to make
a fleeting,
meaningless
observation.
If only others
would opt for
a plant's life
when choosing battles.
