For Jana.
An hour of work to pierce a pair of square feet, roots hidden, shallow and fierce beneath the surface. I pierced, pulled, pushed, watering as I went with drop after drop of my sweat. My blood simmered as each stubborn stem gave way to me. I tossed each aside, and then there were none, just strands of what had been, and loosened soil for new planting. A recluse pattered by, catching my eye as I dug. I offered a gloved finger then blew the spider away. Not now, my sister. And I dug, earth spilling into my gloves, painting my hands with crust. The succulent fell into the place I had made for her with a sigh. I stood, turned, and gathered the remains of what had been into the trash bin, to be transformed into compost for another life to beget life. The faucet squeaked its protest as I turned it. When I found the nozzle's boldest setting, I sprayed away the lifeless dust around the brick-lined abode until my two square feet and their new in-dweller were alone. Tonight, under the starry sky of the searing desert, they will begin to confide their deepest secrets, and learn how to feed one another. And dear Lady Succulent- with her thick, soft skin surrounding mighty wells of gentle balm- she and her loamy lover will teach me how to live well in the desert.
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