i wish i could be a vine, and have no thought for anything except sunshine and water.
to crawl along the wall, to creep against the fence, to bloom in the spring and die in the winter.
to respond only to light, not your scolding or your disgust or your relative importance against the backdrop you stand in front of.
i would have little dark flowers, i would bloom briefly in an effort to thwart my own reproduction.
i would bear little dark berries, poisonous to humans, a dessert for the deer that still get hit on my highway.
in the morning i would be covered in little dewdrops, a faint sheen on green leaves and green twines in the green morning light.
and in the winter i would cower inside myself, hibernate in brown and grey, and knot my shriveled fingers together to wait for the sunshine.