window potato

i potted you on the back stoop
facing the alley where the kids screamed
on plastic bikes & the people moving out
always dumped their half-crushed bedframes. 
the dirt from the grocery store still smelled
fresh & reminded me of every backyard i've ever
gotten to stand in. i noticed you 
opening your eyes in the bowl on the counter.
no one had taught me to swaddle my potatoes.
i guess it was only a matter of time. 
you sprouted one wide & hungry leaf.
i didn't do any googling. i just did what 
made sense. every heart should be buried
in a window. back then i was lonely in 
new & strange ways. my partner was turning
into a camero in the street at night. her eyes
were headlights & i had to cover my face.
the apartment cockroaches had finally 
dwindled to a bearable rate. one or two in a week
instead of marches & swarms. i needed you.
once you were planted you bloomed.
flowers & leaves. the sun felt more real
with you there in the living room. 
at night you would talk dirt with me 
& i would talk back. we would dream a pot 
big enough to burry me too. i told you
i would open a big yellow flower as well. 
i did not plant you right. i know now that
you are supposed to sever the arms 
from the heart. the potato came to rot 
in the earth. stole all your eyes with it. 
i asked over & over, "what if we drive 
to the park" & "what if i reach my hands
in deep." you ended after about a month. 
no new roots. a bundle of fingers reaching
for that round & burning sun. i took you
back out to the alley where the kids were
screaming all their plastic. my partner 
drove loud & endless. headlights 
in the thin hallway. a cockroach on the wall
as witness. i kept your flower on the windowsill.
a little shrine. until it molded. i am sorry
i didn't know how to keep you. 
my partner & i slept like oars of 
a spinning boat. i would paddle. then, her.