ghost orchid

i filled a row of clay pots
with soft rich soil, sat
them in a row by my window.
i have killed a lot 
of plants in my short
time on this earth so i decided
to try something different.
instead of seeds i bought 
some pieces of costume jewelery
from the flea market, pressing
them into the dirt with my thumb.
a ghost orchid is born when 
a living person becomes interested 
in the trinkets of a dead person,
i figured one of the rings 
or earrings or necklaces might work.
The earrings were clip-ons,
tiny cranberries & they were
the first to bloom. a berry red
orchid blinked open. to water 
a ghost orchid you need to tell
it stories. i told the red orchid
about how when i was little
my mother would take a to the big
flower show in the city. i the orchid
that we don't talk much anymore,
mom & i. when i visited home
she used to bring flowers, sometimes 
using collecting dad's diet coke cans 
to use a vases. as i finished
the story the orchid turned 
into a young woman with one of those
red feathery church-going hats.
we shook hands & she thanked me 
for bringing her back this way,
a ghost flower. i made myself small
as her so i could sit beside her on edge 
of the pot, both of us dipping
our feet in the warm dirt.
if i was the orchid & you the 
gardener, would you treat me well?
i asked.
of course she said.
she hopped down & burrowed 
in the dirt at the first glimpse 
of sun. out grow the same 
berry red orchid.
below the soil the ghosts
clutch them seeds. i plant
all my mother's jewelry 
in the backyard, not for flowers
but in the hopes
that i would meet her out 
there, digging for her colorful
brooches, i could make
her an orchid too, maybe several,
a whole garden of my mother
& at night she would all 
come out & we could feed 
each other the stories
we hadn't before.