Claire Jean Kim

Still Life of Woman with Flowers

Because she had a way with plants 
and I didn’t, hers thrived and mine 
died. Unless I gave them to her—
then their little bodies came back
to life. Look, she’d say, fingering 
a bloom, see how well this is doing now? 
And I’d say, You’re much better with flowers 
than daughters. I didn’t say this; I just
thought it. I can take it but I can’t 
dish it out. The time she brought 
me cacti: Even you can keep these alive.

Now her orchid is drowning. Patting
the soil each day, she waters and waters 
anyway. Which circuit is corroding, 
I wonder, the one which apprehends 
wetness or the one which knows what 
to make of it? When she goes to fetch
her coat, I scoop the white petals up off 
the floor and hide the watering can
in the closet. She picks up her purse. 
I breathe in. Ready, Mom? Where should 
we eat? Let’s go somewhere good.

Back to Issue XIII…