until the violet lost its voice

you said you wanted our apartment 
to be full of house plants. 
we started with three potted jade
in the windowsill and a thumb-sized african violet
set right behind the neck of the sink.
in the morning i would use a glass
to water each of them, pushing two fingers
into the dirt to check how much they needed.
i would talk to them, tell them that i loved 
you and that you could have as many plants 
as you wanted. the jade talked back sometimes,
telling me i should be quieter in the morning
and that african violet would say that i was 
a selfish lover, that i didn't deserve someone
like you. i'd walk away, sometimes putting
a glass over the plant so i couldn't hear 
it talking. you brought more home:
the spider plants, 
the devil's ivy and the fiddle-leaf fig,
all of them with new voices,
chatting to me about you. i liked 
the ivy who only spoke in rhymes.
i stopped watering the violet
as it became more cruel, telling me
that you didn't love me and that you
wanted to fill our place with plants
because i leave a chasm in everyone i love.
the violet would scream all morning
till it lost its voice. 
you never heard the plants or
at least you never told if you did.
you changed too, your complexion 
turning green and leafs peering
out from the back of your throat.
when i asked if something was wrong 
you'd say you just needed more plants
more plant more plant
so we both brought them 
ferns and peacock plants and
rubber trees and vines and vines
and vine, the vines and ivy mixing
and digging into the walls,
pulling up the tiles in the kitchen.
all the plants talked over each other
and i gave them each a glass to drink,
nearly an hour it took all morning
and all the while the plants hated me,
even the ones that started off kind,
they told me i was never living 
in the present, that i would never 
make a home with someone.
i went to go find you to wake
you up for work and where you
had been in bed was a mess of
spider plants and ivy 
and rubber tree leaves, outlining your body,
a violet where your head 
had been, all them talking in your
voice, except for the violet
who was still screaming.
i watered you with the glass 
and laid down, touched the dirt of
each of your plants, two fingers 
in the damp soil. i said 
i was sorry over and over
until the violet lost its voice.