Kilimanjaro

kilimanjaro, a south african succulent plant.

it rests on the window sill to the left of me,

overlooking fire escapes on brick buildings.

I spotted the spiky blue-green fingers reaching out of a crowded table of plants at The Greenmarket at Union Square. It reached for me, to care for me while I work in a fluorescent lit building in claustrophobic Manhattan.

I hope that this plant will keep me sane. Like, Will, the master baker I worked with for two years, who brought a plant into his cubicle when he was a young engineer to use as a barometer. When the plant dies, time's up.

Searching out the window in my office, I spot a single, thin tree sapling lurching out from a narrow ledge on the fourth floor of a huge tenement. It is growing out of nowhere, like a magic arrow that struck the side of the brick wall and began to bloom.

There is wild everywhere, it cannot be stopped. Yet, it is a choice to yield to it and let it propogate in my soul.

to a day fully alive,

jamie