I found a nearly dead plant at the Pac n' Save today sitting on an abandoned metal pedestal as I played modern day hunter/gatherer in the dairy section. (Why did I never notice there were giant cut out cows above the milk? I am a shoe-gazer after all).
Because we must consciously raise ourselves above the lie of obligation and duty into that hard joy we love in the smile flung far from our hearts into the story of YES. I can change. I can change.
I think it's probably none of my business if someone isn't watering his or her plants, but there may be an exception to the rule if it's a grocery store. I dig my finger in the dirt, on the sly. Bone dry. Like a life drained dead of the wish-making impulse. I don't really care what happens. Oh, sweetheart, you'd better care. I consider notifying the pharmacy.
Fix it. Don't let it suffer. I can change. I can change.
I consider buying some bottled water. I know--none of my business. I can't help it. My hand naturally goes to the dead leaves at the doctor's office, restaurants, classroom before I can stop myself, I am tending. And it's none of my business.
I look down and immediately notice that below the pedestal is a green plastic watering jug. Oasis. Answer. Why hasn't anyone given you a drink? Did you fade so gradually that no one noticed until it was too late? Is it some cruel experiment in neglect? I consider what people might think. Me, obviously another hunter/gatherer with her wire pack mule filled with her haul. Why am I watering the plants at the grocery store?
I can't help it. I fill the water to the edge, the Bridal Veil (as the tag says) drinks long, in one steady draw. Good luck, I say. And I begin to push the mule toward aisle 2.
I know it's my own heart calling: don't leave me here alone. I can change. I can change. I abandon my goods, go back to the plant, run hands over long vines of leaves, turning them over, delicate V and purple belly, small hope of white bloom if it lives.
And I take it home.