(or the garden)
She insists she's not here to metaphor, to lay down, or to disrupt what we already have going. I am interested in the botany, she says. The peonies. The pepper plants with their delicate white flowers. We are most disturbed by her reaction to the heirloom tomato plant, the multicolored fruits that hang like jewels because of nothing in particular we did right. They nearly sparkle. We hope she will touch them, but than again, we don't. We want her to love them, to speculate on what they would sell for at market. We want her to walk away with empty hands, wishing she could take them with her.