MARIA ROSE
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Basement
The sloppy sun lacquered the walls. I am living in my cave, helping insects escape, but I peek
outside. Sometimes I change into a vine. My cats point me in the right direction. My husband
waters me; I crawl out the window, slowly. It takes days because my body changes as it
becomes used to photosynthesis. My body turns green and my fingers twist and split. They
curl out of the small window. My neck lengthens and my head spreads into a lovely flowering
fan. Each hair curls upward, pulling my disjointed body to the sun. I spread over the stone
pavement. All of my bug friends recognize me. The worm that I saved from the slug nods a
hello. The slug gets his revenge by nipping at my leaves. I try to move, but I am slower than
he is. It doesn’t matter because the sun rises and he has to hide. As it curves in the sky I am
not worried because I am freshly watered. My eyes have turned into big blue flowers,
allowing me to stare at the sun all day. As night comes, the moon flashes a warning that the
slug will soon return. So, I uncurl my tendrils and close my blossoms as I creep back
underground. My cats lick the evening dew off of me as I return to normal.
By
Maria Rose
The sloppy sun lacquered the walls. I am living in my cave, helping insects escape, but I peek
outside. Sometimes I change into a vine. My cats point me in the right direction. My husband
waters me; I crawl out the window, slowly. It takes days because my body changes as it
becomes used to photosynthesis. My body turns green and my fingers twist and split. They
curl out of the small window. My neck lengthens and my head spreads into a lovely flowering
fan. Each hair curls upward, pulling my disjointed body to the sun. I spread over the stone
pavement. All of my bug friends recognize me. The worm that I saved from the slug nods a
hello. The slug gets his revenge by nipping at my leaves. I try to move, but I am slower than
he is. It doesn’t matter because the sun rises and he has to hide. As it curves in the sky I am
not worried because I am freshly watered. My eyes have turned into big blue flowers,
allowing me to stare at the sun all day. As night comes, the moon flashes a warning that the
slug will soon return. So, I uncurl my tendrils and close my blossoms as I creep back
underground. My cats lick the evening dew off of me as I return to normal.
By
Maria Rose
e-mail: maria@planetwimmer.com home: www.planetwimmer.com
WRITING