I never knew how sharp a blade of grass could be until recently.
I spend hours in my garden, sweating and dehydrated, seeing stars, back pain, trying to manipulate the chaos into something I am proud of.
I leave for a few days and find all of the leaves have fallen from my favorite house plant. I experience what feels like a true sense of loss.
I lose sleep. “How can I make you happier, healthier, feel more alive?”A fellow plant lover tells me to harvest my menstrual blood every month for fertilizer- that’ll help.
My friends come over and admire my sizeable rubber plant, and will often ask for a piece to propagate. When I cut its stem, milky white blood oozes out and leaves my fingers uncomfortably sticky.
My garden is unruly again, so I do some routine maintenance. Something bites me, hard. I swiftly smack, scratch, and slap the back of my ankle, while feeling around for the atrocious creature responsible for the attack.
It’s a razor-sharp blade of grass.