I remember

my mother

attempting to cultivate interest

In all things green.

I remember trekking

through woods

searching for

dry land fish

or rare wild flowers

with heavy feet and

long dramatic sighs

sitting on rotting logs

as chiggers and ticks

Made me host.

I remember planting a ring

around a bird bath

but losing the interest

and dedication

to water

or weed

And eventually just forgot.

I've killed a cactus.

Not once.

But twice.

After promises that it was

Virtually impossible.

But I'm trying.

The birthday daisies

Aren't dead yet.

And the tomatoes I got

just this week

aren't lonely

or sad a

Or soft yet.

Just need a new bed

To rest their roots.

I'm trying to fertilize

this black thumb of death

into something more productive

now that I have a few more rings

On my own trunk.