Magdalene Kennedy is an artist and writer from Nashville, Tennessee. She is currently studying digital media and narrative arts at the University of Alabama.
It grew as we all do, through coffee grounds
and eggshells and other fragments
of last week’s life. I found it growing
in the compost behind the garden,
an unplanned plant, borne perhaps
of a thrown away apple core, or a squash seed.
Comfortably sprouted, small leaves
moving in the air like a child reading aloud.
I listened to the long notes
of cars driving past,
their aluminum bodies catching
the sun for a moment before
throwing it back, into my periphery—
a brief pocket of light.
In rows, the other plants grew
in time with each other,
four beets to a measure.
I played my part by
breathing in, breathing out.
I heard the back door sing as
she opened it and called for me
to come back inside.