Dangerous Compassions

the plant I hate the most

“Can I take the rest of this?”

“You can have as much as you want.  Do you know how easy that is to make?  Ridiculously uncomplicated,” I said.

“Ridiculously uncomplicated,” Ming repeated.

It’s leftover rice, soyrizo, and delicious cruciferous garden leaves.  Wow, so good.

I called Ming a cold-hearted chard spurner.  I never called anyone that before.  We laughed because it’s so ept.  Apt, I mean.  He’s anti-chard lately.  I love chard.

Did you know I hate oleander?  I hate oleander to the point where I used to fantasize about digging it out of people’s yards, in the night.  That was some intense plant-hate.

I said, “Oleander is a plant people plant when they know nothing about plants.”

I also said it’s landscaping filler for people who lack imagination.  Median clutter.  Fakeass soulless plant crap!  Uuugh!

Then we came here, and oleander grows in the driveway.  I was like, eh.  It’s not so bad.  It flowers a lot.  I like when the petals drop.  It’s better than no plant at all, right?

I once had a friend I loved.  They said they wanted to get married on the day the appletree flowers dropped their petals.  Thought for a minute it might be me.  

Then all was lost.  So now I cry around this time of year, for the life I couldn’t bring into being.  The white petals are falling in a breeze, swirling on their yard and house and body.  They look up and see the magical snow-like opposite of snow.  

I hope they found an appropriate wedding person.  I never made it back there.

Mother’s Day is a pile of fallen petals, for me.  The petals did their job, as a landing place for bees, and now they’ll scatter and go back into the earth.  

Living moms can be very beautiful.  I know not all moms are good, but love them if you got them.

The best thing about my mom dying is I only had one, so she can’t die again.  The worst thing about my mom dying is I only had one.  And I miss her.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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