Objection, T.S.: August is Actually the Cruelest Month

This spring was a torrent. Torrentious. Did anything grow, in response to all that rain? Well, I revived one house plant...it was all but an hoja skeleton, when I became so upset at the possibility of killing my 100th house plant (read: tired at my OWN NEGLIGENCE---read: IN EVERY OTHER SECTOR OF MY LIFE) that I sent her a strong brain-to-plant-brain message: here's water, please come back. You're too young. I have a new p.o.v. for you, see? Across the street from the big leaves, see? They have to weather the storm, you can just watch. I just bought you last Monday. I don't even know your name; common or Latin. Or where you're from. Or why I chose you. Or what you like for breakfast. Or what I'm going to do with you. But I know you can do it. So in 24 hours she came back with 4 new flowers. Her posture had shifted to proud, comfortable. I was ECSTATIC. And now I attend to her more because I know what she needs. This photo...just a mess, hectic like those months really were...both rolls are from May. And the end of June. Here, it looks like the child in the red shirt is holding the bottom of a framed photo of some arrangement of fauna...he is wearing plant pants and his shirt matches the flowers from the brooklyn patio that were from the second frame, slightly shining through from underneath...for a few months now...everything has overlapped...the plant and our little triumph is the first thing that has brought me any clarity.