I remember the plants because
there were so many of them.
I found one in a white pot that
I wanted to keep for myself
and a man told me to
be careful
as I lifted it, my hands
disconnected and rearranged,
absent of scaphoid or radius
or tendon sheath—
I remembered someone once
saying that women typically
live longer than men, but with
our matriarch gone first, I questioned
how longevity was earned, if it was
bloodborne—
In the late July heat, the only
thing I could think to do was
tend to my own body with
dandelion and
medicine and
husk & cool stone
even though there was so little
room left in my skin for anything
but water and grief—
You should know that I ended
up taking two of the plants home
even though I’ve never been
good at keeping them alive—