The Plants We Grew

Having talked back and forth, several times,
About what would constitute a memorable anniversary gift
We decided, on a whim, not shortlisted
On the list of items with adequate significance, to buy,
As compromise, plants for our adjoining terrace.

Not the potted kind,
I had said to you a dozen times, explaining
I have issues of detachment with sprouts
Whose milestones I have missed;
The very first stalk, translucent green,
Slender, delicate, wobbly bent,
The two leaves, following –
Held in a V, like birds frozen in flight,
Or spindly arms outstretched, grabbing
From beyond the open window, solar leftovers;
What I refer to, casually, as
Ozone’s armed fugitives.

Two leaves in the inner whorl,

Resting on a peduncle, noodle-shaped,
Turning four, then eight, then sixteen, so on –
Seeing, beyond my eyes, limbs take shape,
A nose formulate, pigments distend like open doors,
Tapering waists, dark green nipples, and roots
Under the elevated earth, grow muscular and strong.
They are closer to me than my own,
Babies, we have grown
From scratch, from life suspended in shells
Sold in paper packets, by the pound.

The established ones, in blossom,

Beautiful­ –yes, but estranged in the way
Of adopted children. We uncoil our destinies,
Shovel in additives, and recoil with ligature,
Trying so hard to internalize a borrowed genealogy.

The essential sentiment here is

From scratch, experiencing myself
The processes of gestation, birthing, labor, delivery,
A readied mother, me.
And then, watching under Nature’s magnification, the steps
From a single cell grow into a mature organism;
One with a vision, itself amorous,
Bearing fruit, little progenies that would diversify
Our sensitive racial relapse. Grow into flowers,
Form petals like sleeves, bells, boneless trumpets,
And burst into pollen, fleeting vectors
Of invisible off-springs, children’s inaudible cries
That would further turn the wheel of life,
One more maneuver, then two, then three,
Into a perpetuation, into infinity.

You had argued, then, the idea of convenience.

Some plants, you had said, are just too hard to grow,
Take too much time, are such a bother
To set just right. You were uneasy with effort.
The raising of our children, needing to be
Quick, measured, occasional.
So we struck a balance; some plants, we decided,
We would build from scratch –the daisies, forget-me-nots, bachelor’s buttons,
Others we would borrow and adopt as our own.

And so we did. And I fell in love
With you, and our babies, all over again.
Watching, within the planters, the judgment
Of Nature’s court; struggling for existence,
The fittest, surviving. And the dead ones,
We lifted, from their cushion-less beds,
Kissed their lids of permanent dreams,
Spoke in rhyme of the joy they brought,
And buried them back into the Earth.