Watering Can

By Ashlyn Harwell

When she felt the pull in the pit of her stomach

She ran.

She ran out of her room,

Through the green kitchen,

Passed the living room with pale yellow walls,

And hurt her fingers pulling open the sliding glass doors

That led to the sun room.

She made it just in time

To grab the glass watering can from by the door.

She hurriedly removed the top

and placed the opening of the can under her eyes.

Finally, she let the tears burning her eyes fall,

Her sadness running through her like waves.

She was a heavy, gray cloud.

She tried not to make any sounds

So that no one would hear her cries.

They always started deep down in her stomach,

Made their way up into her chest,

Into her throat, where she would try to choke them back.

But they are too strong and progress to her eyes without permission.

Her cheekbones are mountains

and her tears make waterfalls.

She sat there for a second,

Letting the tears come from her belly.

She listened

To the sounds of her rain droplets

Landing at the bottom of the glass can.

Drip

Drip

Drip

Finally, they stopped.

She wiped her red face with the back of her hand,

And lowered the watering can from below her eyes.

She walked to the rows and rows of plants and flowers she nurtures.

Big, curvy, and green with strong leaves and roots.

One by one she watered each,

Lovingly.

They grew out of her sadness,

She wishes she could grow out of her sadness.