Poems

The Amaryllis

She brought an amaryllis to the office as a gift
I protested: “I’m not very good with plants…”
She laughed: “This is your chance to learn.”
I looked at my new plant dubiously,
I jiggled it in the pot
“How often do I water this thing?”
She poked an expert finger into the soil
“Daily—you’ll have to come in on the weekend”
“It’s probably too hot in here”
“No, Amarylli like it hot”

She had her session and left
I pottered about the secretary’s desk, tidying up, looking sideways at the thing
I wiggled the pot again—
the plant tottered bravely—
thick stem, asparagus green, 4 flower heads, partly open,
lipstick-red with yellow tongues

I got some distilled water out of the fridge
I carefully poured it in, checking the plastic pot and foil wrapping,
like a diaper, for leaks
The plant seemed to shudder and recoil from the cold water
“Pretend it’s gin!” I whispered
No, wait, this is a teetotaler office, you’re a teetotaler plant

I thought guiltily of the Christmas poinsettia which had entered the office
leafy branches proudly turgid for about half an hour
It had been all an illusion—the leaves soon began to fall
No matter what I did, they kept falling and I lost count of them eventually
handfuls of sticky, curled leaves lying on the carpet waiting for me
Every time I opened the door and ushered another patient out,
it seemed the plant had died a little more!
I talked to it, watered it, water-restricted it, and asked everyone who came to see me
for advice
As it lost more and more leaves it looked sadder and sadder.
I couldn’t believe I had a suicidal plant in my office and I couldn’t fix it. I felt awful.
Soon, it was existing on 4 green leaves alone…
One day I attacked it with scissors, pruning it.
The sap was milky and sticky and I felt I had blood on my hands.
The plant said not a word but we both knew it was terminal.
I gave it a decent burial and hoped the donor wouldn’t need a therapy session for awhile.

On the corner of the desk, the cacti still bloom blithely
They’re immune to me, prickly-perfect, rarely needing anything
But an amaryllis?
Forced from the bulb in a hothouse?
Gently tended by an experienced gardener?
I feel like I’ve been left with an infant
who’s about to wail as soon as the parents get out to the car
Help, help, I need a manual!

I’d like to tuck it into bed somehow
but it is too tall and naked
not self-consciously naked, but just “out there” somehow
People in the waiting room stop talking when they see it
maybe they think it has a hidden mike
maybe they wonder what I’m up to
Sylvia had her tulips and we know what happened to her
what is a psychiatrist doing with this thing?

Okay, it’s not a thing
It’s an amaryllis
Does it want the lights on at night?
Does it gaze out the window over the water to the sparkling lights of Vancouver and
want to go dancing?

Would it prefer to be on the floor
or the window ledge?
Does it crave human touch
or fear it?
Do Amarylli feel fear?

I put my coat on, set the alarm, and wave goodbye
“You’ll be safe here overnight, at least,” I hear myself saying
“I hope it’s not too hot for you.”
In the morning
it is standing even taller
The secretary has left it on the counter
in its place of honour
Now when I come out to speak to her
I see it first
And the patients file past it
In and out of my office all day
What are they thinking?
What is it thinking?
“Well, we got through the first twenty four hours—
you’d better be back to water me tomorrow!”

I went to medical records tonight
I went to review some charts
There, standing on the clerk’s desk
Another amaryllis
Almost identical in height and colour
I think for a brief moment
“It’s following me”
And then I have to laugh at myself
Perhaps this is its mate