not a wisteria

 

he used to call like it mattered…
like the little blue light in my hand
was a lighthouse and not a cheap trick.

now it’s mostly silence.
a long, lazy silence
that acts like it’s deep
when it’s really just… absent.

people love to say that thing about wisteria…
ignore it and it’ll grow like a weed,
climb the fence,
kick down the trellis,
throw purple fireworks all over the neighborhood
like it’s proving a point.

and sure, fine,
maybe some vines thrive on neglect
like they’re fueled by spite
and bad weather
and the sound of doors shutting.

but i’m not a damn wisteria.

i don’t want to be admired
from a distance
like some overgrown miracle
that happened without anybody showing up.

i’m not asking for a marching band,
or hourly check-ins,
or heart emojis lined up like soldiers.

i’m asking for the human stuff:
a call that says, i thought of you
and not two days later.
a text that isn’t a receipt
or a weather report
or the spiritual equivalent of
tapping my shoulder with a stick.

because i can be low-maintenance
and still need maintenance.
because there’s a difference
between space
and being shelved.

and i’ve got a garden here…
real dirt, real effort,
real soft parts i don’t advertise…

and i’m not going to stand in it forever
watering myself with excuses
while you stroll past
like you’ve got all the seasons in the world.

if you want blossoms,
show up more often than sometimes.
if you want me,
prove it with ten seconds of effort
and a little intention,
not a philosophy about plants.

otherwise, listen…
i’m not a weed,
i’m not a lesson,
i’m not a hardy vine meant to suffer beautifully.

i’m a person.

and if you won’t tend my garden
once in a while,
i can find someone
with hands that will.

​​

© Sreedhari Desai