I stopped watering my plants because I had nothing left to give. I moved into an apartment bathed in natural light put the plants on a window sill and said, “Don’t die.” When my favorite plant didn’t bloom I assumed I broke it, too. I spent that whole summer somewhere between sweltering and wilting. I couldn’t afford the windows the kitchen island, the closet, the hardwood floors let alone, the heating. This house was my last ditch effort to save my plants. Four seasons of rewriting all the pain my life has ever known, of swallowing, “I’m okay’s,” every single time I looked in the mirror. Of pruning dead leaves like pulling at summer skin. Of crumpling up hope like bad poems on scratch paper. Of breaking etched bones to see if I really needed them. Four seasons of relearning the shape a mouth makes before a kiss. Of endless explanations to my couch hoping friends why the futon couldn’t be unfolded. Of everyone committing to only pouring one and other’s drinks. Of slow key turns, and cold nose hellos, and, wouldn’t you know it, four seasons later- it bloomed.
KJ Kindling is an author that currently resides in Denver, Colorado. She’s a seventh generation Coloradoan, a life long poet, a romantic, a rescue dog advocate, a feminist, and a naturalist. She’s currently working on getting her first book published, Arcadia or Bust. To follow that journey and read more of her writing, find her on Instagram at @kj.kindling.