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  • Writer's pictureMor Lumbroso

Growth

Updated: Aug 29, 2022

Lost in the desert

Weary and thirsty

I approached a flock of

Cacti

Spotted with fruit


One Cactus invited me

To reach for its fruit

To quench

The permeating dehydration

That has hindered my growth


But the blazing sun

Burned

And the Cactus’ thorns

Ruptured my leaves

And left them in bits


See, I am not a Cactus

I’m a Calathea in a desert

Highly sensitive to scarcity

Or excess

Of water and sun


If rightly nurtured

My leaves unfurl

And reveal

A dance of colors

That soften and enrich the land


So I turned to leave

In search

Of a more habitable environment

Where movement and growth

Were natural


But the Cactus

Urged me to stay

Because it liked my complexions

And my willing leaves

Soothed its rough environment


Remove some thorns, I asked

So I may approach your fruit

I can live a life of survival

By your side

If it will be sweet


The Cactus refused

Thorns were common here

It was I who was sensitive

It was I who needed to understand

To adjust


My punctured double-sided leaves

Purple and green and bleeding

Taught me of

Pain

And the complexities of being


So I asked the Cactus instead

Share a fraction

Of your retained water or

Make for me

A small space of shade


But the Cactus refused again

Its habit of survival

In harsh conditions

Did not allow sharing

Or an expansion of form


I can only offer my fruit

Said the cactus

All you need to do

Is stretch your leaves

And reach it


Look around you

All plants here have thorns

All keep

Their resources close

For themselves


I looked around

And saw that it was so, but then

Finally

I looked at myself

And remembered


I am not a Cactus, I am a Calathea


My natural environment is not harsh

But supple

Where all plants stretch and

Move together

To soften the elements


And I wonder how I ended up

Here

Surrounded by Cacti

Reaching out

For their distant fruit


Being told

To change my form

And damage my leaves

Just so I could share

My complexions


With stringent plants

That refuse to grow

That will watch me

Perish

From thorns and dehydration


So


Quietly


I curled up my leaves


And


Left


















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