Thus spake hibiscus

KCMO 1996ish

The October sun burst through my window like a proud laser. In my den, my hibiscus waited eagerly, its hand stretched up high and waving. I noticed it missing the sunshine by a measly three inches. After some math, I had determined that it had been going through this for months. There it was, inches from the morning, stuck in a pot, immovable. From this shadowy jail, it watched the floor planks basking. And there I stood, its guilty warden. Redemption led me over and I sat down beside him. Pulling my knees close to my chest, the floor spoke of the chill in the morning. Down here, the hibiscus was my elder. I sat underneath my new buddy soaking in the view. We would wait for the sun together.

At first, it was like church with your parents. A ritual with attentions traded elsewhere. There was a lot of staring and daydreams spread wide like grazing buffalo. My hibiscus held this front row ticket daily. Sitting next to him, I noticed something unexpected. There was a deep calmness that came from immobility. All the decisions of where to go and how to get there faded. Glued to the floor, the world became a slow ebbing canvas. Passive miracles happened in this room. Like this sunbeam preparing for a solo. As the day spread before us, I could imagine how life tasted stuck right here in a pot. How conversations in my kitchen were a land far away. The coffee pot sputtered. The sound a mere pigeon cooing in the distance. After all, there was no kitchen.