When Life Is at Its Crappiest, My Tomato Plant Blooms a Juicy Heart

These last few days have been rather crappy… and a bit puky… okay, really puky…

But like I said to a friend, after she asked why I was laughing so hard after having just hurled on my own foot, “Well, I still have a thing or three to be thankful for.” I mean, there are people out there who live with chronic health conditions that are much worse than mine. And unlike me, they can’t claim the superpower of being able to clean their own puke.

Also, how many people out there can walk into their living room to find out that their tomato plant has just bloomed them a heart? Yep, magic everywhere… and some of it, I can turn into salad.

Today, I had one of those “I cried because I had no shoes, then I met a man with no feet” moments. Our sociopolitical situation sort of sucks, my body is being a royal bastard, some humans are acting in ways so shocking that I’m wondering if I should stop using the human label to describe them…

But, in that mess, a tomato plant fruits indoor, my limbs and will are strong enough to feed my body and keep it clean, and a dear friend and my husband say that when I can’t do it for myself, they will.

I hope I never have to take them up on it—at least not in the next few decades. But if the time comes when the world’s turmoil and my treacherous body are too much for me to handle, I’ll remember that I don’t have to handle things… alone.

That (and a heart-shaped tomato) will keep me smiling for a while. What fuels your smile, my Luvs?

heart-shaped-tomato

My Wailing Howls

Brendan asked us to “find [our] still place in a poem.” Because “in times of turmoil within and without, the carved language of poetry can provide a rare bower of grace and wonder. When all is seemingly lost—and, strangely, especially, sometimes only then—a singing heart can find its grail.”

“My Wailing Howls”

Woe sinks teeth
in my fleshy bits
and I scream

not.

I breathe out
my wailing howls
and run
for the trees:

Nature always knows
how to love me,

and brings me back
from the brink. 

When woe sinks teeth
in the fleshiest bits of my being,
I fly for the woods
remembering: My love grows
on trees…

even on the butchered,
bloodied bits.

.
the wee notes…
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (Sunday Mini-Challenge, Still Points) and to Sanaa’s Prompt Nights (Brevity’s the flower that contends not with bunch, rather it blooms).
– Woe’s teeth have been specially sharp these last few days. May we all find our loving woods.

love-grows-on-trees