by Kirstin Baillie.
A loud hungry howl takes form as drooping wilting leaves. You ache in eternal limbo of malnutrition
Merciful to the whim of my maternal intuition
I must try harder to remember, I proclaim in a sermonising tone, as I drizzle water over baron soil.
I sit down to rest, to dwell, be still, like you.
You are the focal force of the room, part of a microcosmic forest that drapes over the fireplace, dominating all eyes that enter.
I heard you like to breathe together. Like us, you are social. Team work makes the dream work in the plant world as in ours. You are nine strong, a tribe of workers, cleaning our air, ridding us of toxins, you ask not for adulation, only water and light and yet you sag, neglected.
I wonder if it’s true: you respond to kind words and affection. I believe you are influenced more subtly than sporadic verbal cues.
You feel everything, from my unwashed days of nothing to Cat Slater’s latest tirade of doom that bellows from the telly.
Baring witness to my procrastination and private silent moments of despair or quiet joy.
Eyes unfolding thought, rhythmic thumbs orbit fingers, stubborn limbs entangled in anguish, shoulders too high or too low.
Chomping food like a midnight fox gnawing at a bulb that was buried deep beneath roots and clay.
You synthesise my moods in winter for lack of sun or water.
A thriving symbiotic existence now rots at the hands of my uncultivated notions.
You show up every day without fail to flourish and I take you for granted.
I steal loving looks from your glorious chlorophyll hold that nurtures my soul.
I must try harder, to remember.
Kirstin is a Volunteer with the Kinning Park Complex. She keeps the garden flourishing.
The Peace Lily was sent home with our not so green fingered Events & Communications Officer Clare as a lesson in #PlantCare. It seems to be going well from the picture though!