Grayson Welo
I strolled behind her as we approached the table of flora.
Smooth, iridescent leaves hid
the slab of wood beneath.
“Ouch!”
I eyed the culprit that grabbed her attention —
1 inch wide, unstately in height,
protected in a coat of prickly spines.
It sat lopsided.
A clashing concoction of
muted yellow and olive
green in a plastic bin,
overshadowed by cascading
philodendrons,
but still there.
Chin tucked and cheeks rouged, she smiled at me,
“Which one do you want?”
The door chimes rang as we walked away,
proclaiming my purchase to the street.
She placed the cactus in my cupped palms,
and I secured it like a Sunday wafer —
with caution and care.
“You should give him a French name,” she teased.
Now Pierre sits on my windowsill,
tucked in his proper terracotta pot,
no longer cramped between showy plants.
I nurture him as promised, yet
he requires little care —
only a splash of water every four to six weeks.
I study him with each passing day
as he stretches his spine. Content
to absorb the sun and report to no one,
he accredits himself for each new
inch in height, showing me
how to detach
from the comforts of the past.
Grayson Welo is a third-year from Weston, Massachusetts studying journalism, marketing, and French. She started writing poetry this year and enjoys playing with different writing styles. But more importantly, she loves the ocean, cooking meals with her friends, and impromptu dance parties.
