Plant

Boxes have begun to pile.

I have to fill the space with Current Joys because these blank walls will make your mind do circles in your head.

It’s all dusty. Dust from skin that used to be around here, but is gone now. Hairs tangled in the carpet of those who have come and gone.

That plant is dead. Why didn’t you throw it away months ago? I watched it die day after day. I never fed it. No water. Nothing. I just watched its leaves shrivel as it was deprived of sun and water. Sometimes I’d give it a little taste of what it needed just so I could see it sit on that shelf for a few more days.

Now it sits, still in the pot I bought, in the trash. I didn’t plant it but it was mine.

You’d think at some point it would hit me. But not today, today no. Today these boxes mean nothing. They are just filled with dust, the skins from the past. Skins that don’t matter anymore, to me at least.

Maybe I should’ve kept that pot. Maybe I will.

Maybe someday I’ll have another plant.

Maybe I’ll water it next time. Or just watch it die slowly again.