Drainage

I hear Daniel Plainview as water trickles through the soil into the sink, echoing in the alleys of my mind, over the running faucet–my pothos wraps around my hands while I do my good work. Water a plant I’ve homed. Plants can sense their owners return and I, their parch. How many streams I’ve let be filled with their nitrated soil , how many gallons wasted passing through thoroughly wet soil, how much drainage, how much drainage never even touches the matted grout? Family stores never love, never pull apart or prune unfit roots, they keep them even if they’re weeding, choking vines that swear to God they’re trying to sustain the body of this pothos…my pothos is looking for the light.