The Jade Plant

The jade plant was hers.

Plunked down in good light, the plant grew fiercely,

almost volcanic as it spewed forth heavy arms

and chunky leaves.

In the days after she left me,

I found myself curled into a question mark

on the floor looking up at the underside of the jade.

I had questions.

Why did the plant look heavier from the underside?

Why did the dead leaves turn silver?

Why did she leave me?

I adopted rituals.

Follow the dust bunnies from room to room.

Allow dishes to stack into Buddhist temples before washing.

Water the plant every other Sunday.

Recently, the jade has been dropping whole fat arms onto the floor.

Some with gigantic clusters of leaves.

I fling the arms out the door

and slam the door when I’m done.

“That’s what you get for staying here with me,”

I tell the plant.

  --Mitchell Hegman