Frances Cannon
Succulent Thief
It began with the single leaf—a sharp-lipped specimen which had
fallen into a nest of cactus fur. It didn’t belong, so I plucked it out
nd held it in my palm as we walked around the greenhouse. I kept
it there in my hand like a secret while you gave me a tour of your
favorite plants: the silver-dollar, a squash relative, with coin-like
leaves and spiral tendrils, the cork-stemmed passionflower with
little black fruits. While you bent your face into the flower which
smells like rotten fruit, I stole a leaf from the Spiderwort and
slipped it into the pocket of my wide-legged pants. You gave me a
demonstration of the pollination dance of the bird of paradise,
and I snapped three globes from the string-of-pearl plant. Later, I
potted my loot in a ceramic cup in my kitchen. If they survive, I’ll
confess.