Very much just another blog

The plant

with one comment

There is a plant in my garden that you bought years ago and which we placed proudly by our door as a sign of our domesticity and because we were laying down roots. When our life together ended I carried it here and it continued to grow: light green leaves jabbing out like a baby’s fist from its fat little body. I was pleased to see this, never having had green fingers: if we could get a tub of basil from the supermarket to the car before it died we considered it a major achievement. How we used to joke.

This summer the plant stopped growing. I don’t know why because there was so much rain and it didn’t look sick to me; it didn’t look anything but fine and as it had always been. But suddenly the leaves seemed to lose their moisture, turned brown and were crisp to touch. I fluttered about with a watering can and imagined you coming by and I would put on a white jacket and say: I’m sorry,  I did everything I could.

Last night when I went outside past midnight to smoke, the plant was glowing pink. Its dry leaves were vibrating softly into the halo. I watched it or a while, until my cigarette had burned down and I lit another and that burned down too. Then I went inside and wrote this for you, to tell you that the plant is pink and I don’t know what that means but it is and I look at it when I smoke.


Written by elikafm

October 16, 2010 at 3:21 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

One Response

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  1. Good words as always. I have a similar plant. I often wonder how much of your blog is fiction or experience.


    October 19, 2010 at 1:34 pm

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