el arbol

We find ways of not talking. Ways of living near but not with each other. There’s nothing aggressive about this. It happens accidentally. It becomes easiest.

Our communication has never been better.

I hurt, I tell him, gauze in the wastebasket. I hurt, too, he says, scribbling band aids on the grocery list. There’s a charge for a call to America lamenting, I miss my mother. The empty refrigerator says, I can’t find what I need. His re-genred, his perfectly-justified book spines: I’m starting over.

The mail piles up: I want to be alone.
e.e. cummings on the lamp table: make love to me.
The winerack is empty: I can’t.
A stack of books on 1940s architecture, elements, materials: I’m doing something.
Spanish language cds: I’m working, too.

New bookshelves with empty spaces: together?
A black and white of us: I hope.
A hammer left on the desk: you’ll need more than hope.
A Goodwill receipt.
A tandem bicycle.

Then, there was the kumquat tree. It showed up Thursday, which would’ve been a hopeful sign, except that the tree was withered. Was the withering a sign, or was the tree a sign, or, maybe, was Thursday a sign? Was it a hopeful sign (the potential of fruit)? Was it stable because Thursday is mid-week? Was it the withering that was important? Was the tree in the process of becoming stronger? Was that the sign? Life coming from death? Regeneration of desiccated things?

I tilted my head, as though it would clear, confusion pouring out my ear like so much sand, right there on the living room floor. I always knew what he meant. I always understood. But what was intended by a wilted kumquat tree?

I touched its leaves, its smooth bark. What exactly was botanified in this little tree? I knew nothing about soil. How did one prevent aphid infestation? I wanted to watch blossoms turn into citrus fruit. Someone said that talking to plants helps them grow. Or was it music? Could that be true?

I hoped for the first time in so long. Watering the tree, I thought, come, tiny, brilliant kumquats. Mixing minerals into the soil: grow. I put the little tree on a stand in a sunny corner of the room.

And then, my first words aloud: What do you need?