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Tag: plants

I will not be beautiful for someone else

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I am tired. I am broken violets in a vase that hasn’t had water for days. I am cut at the base of a very long stem – growing bent under the weight of others’ sins carried on the wind. How do you grow up when you cannot see the sun? Cannot feel the heat on your leaves? No warmth in the day? No moon at night?

I die. My roots growing further into the earth trying to bury my alive. When I am hiding perhaps I’ll survive. Only dirt is seen by the naked eye, but I…

I grow silently beneath the soil. I wrap all my limbs around rocks that told me I couldn’t and hold them so tightly. They anchor me. I tell them my secrets hoping my stories will bounce back with an echo of truth I don’t already know. I am only a seed below.

Scattered. Like dust. Shattered. Like someone just put me here and expected me to be something beautiful. Something for show. A feature in a building they call home.

It’s a house made of aging bones and hollow noises and records that play on too-loud speakers because why fix a thing that isn’t completely broken? Yet. It’s only a little out of shape. The music is still in time. In time.

In time. My heart no longer beats in time to the right rhythm. Broken violets in a thirsty vase asking for questions to be asked. Why keep them if they’re dead? What if they rot?

I’m not saying they’re entirely ineffectual – I’m a conversation starter at least. What will they speak about with a flowerless mantlepiece? Will they even miss me?

Not planted or picked for display. Just somewhere. A seed. Growing my own way and looking for the light.

Become giants from the ground

Here is the unmaking
in petals falling with not enough weight
to break.
From faith of smallest measure,
a giant stems from ground’s hold –
pushing and making way
fighting against earth and air
gently.
It wouldn’t be called growth
if there was no gravity
for it’s only in the martyr of life
that we ever progress
or become less if we give in.
Let yourself rather reach and fall from the sky
than die half-height, half-strength
of what you could have been.
You will not break
nor smash
nor make a sound.
You will unmake even more into the soil,
and entrench yourself further into the roots,
and find the faith you thought too small to plant,
and birth yourself
ever tall
ever regal
ever made
again.

—–

This is the 10th poem in a series of 30. Read the previous nine here:

Day 1: Tighter than fear

Day 2: Do not wish me to be true

Day 3: Listen

Day 4: What to ask after the wreckage

Day 5: Even though they die

Day 6: Where will you go when the rain comes?

Day 7: You cannot do much for the dead

Day 8: Keep it together

Day 9: Wrecking the very gods we built | On statues and stories

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

This is the kind of story you expect me to either have been very drunk or following through on a very stupid dare. I was neither. So we’ll put it down to shallow bravado, blatant necessity and a half-awake-half-asleep state of mind.

Skewered like a rat on a peg

The shin pin episodes

This one time I pinned myself to the fence

Plants and broken gates are dumb

Bleeding to death in the middle of the night

It’s no wonder the neighbors didn’t come running

It took me a while to come up with a title for this post. So after crossing out several options, the title right at the top is what I left it at.Technically, it did happen at night (not “day” like it says), and maybe I’m being a little overdramatic, but this was no uneventful evening so I think I’m allowed a few hyperboles. So here goes…

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

It was late when we got home, only to discover that the electric gate wasn’t working. (Whether it was the gate or the remote, is not important.) We were less than impressed.

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

There was only one way we were going to get inside; this was the one of those times where “get over, yourself” (note the punctuation) was actually worthwhile advice.

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

I figured it was a bad idea to jump over the fence where the spikes were so evident, because if I slipped then I’d be in a lot of pain. But wait! There was a tiny piece of wall between the two – great! And it was close to a power box which I could use to gain some height. This seemed to be going well. (Never mind the very large, and slightly higher, dustbin that was also outside.)

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

I hopped up onto the power box with ease.

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

Once on top of the power box I gripped onto the top of the wall and continued to hoist myself up onto it, allowing enough height to land on the front of my leg first.

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

Allow me to clarify some things about this next picture:

  1. My legs are not that skinny
  2. My legs do not normally bend at such weird angles
  3. My right leg does not go from big to silly-small in reality
  4. My pants aren’t usually see-through (although that would be interesting)
  5. My dress sense (I like to think) is not that bad
  6. I may have exaggerated a bit about how much blood there really was

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

It’s a good thing my friend isn’t blood squeemish, otherwise who knows how long I would have been skewered to the fence while she was passed out on the pavement. In hindsight too, I understand two things more clearly:

  1. The neighbours didn’t come running to help us because in our country’s criminal climate there is only one thought that comes to mind as you’re lying in bed and someone is howling from the top of your wall. It’s a wonder they didn’t shoot at me.
  2. I had never considered that there may have been spikes on that inviting-looking piece of wall between the two aggressively spikey gates. Again, in our criminal climate let no surface be un-spiked. Why I didn’t think of that, I don’t know. If I could think of jumping over a little piece of wall, how much more so would the bad guys think of it? Silly me.

the day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

The next part is all a blur, really. I do know that I was helped down from the power box (once I’d near severed my leg to remove it from the fence) by my dear, strong, non-squeemish, helpful friend.

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

I’m not sure if my laughter at this point was because of the pain, hysteria, loss of blood, over-tiredness, adrenalin or… just because I looked really stupid in my own mind.

Seamlessly, my delightful friend proceeded (once she’d ensured I was sitting and out of most harm’s way) to get the dust bin, hop over the gate (the spikey part, nogal! What a legend!) and open it from the inside. She pulled the car inside while I hobbled over the property threshold trailing red as I went.

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

Sadly the battle scar does not nearly depict the astronomical adventure in full, but I do have a story to tell at the very least.

The day I was skewered to the fence like a pig on a stake

 

•••

 

Do not try this at home.

No plants (only humans) were harmed in the writing of this post.

I made sure to get a tetinus shot the following day. Thus, my leg is still attached and I don’t have a severe case of lock-jaw.