burdock } district three

( b u r d o c k )

Acacia, aconite, agaric, agrimony, althea, anemone, arbutus, ash, balem, banyan, basil, bean, bedstraw, beech, belladonna, betony, bisort, bleeding heart, bracken, buckthorn, burdock- 

Just from my name alone, I knew I was meant for this: Burdock. My mother whispers my name into my neck at the age of four, the tender skin blessed by her violet lips - I knew she loved me, and that's good enough. Burdock, I tick the numbers on my finger: feminine, venus, water, used for protection and healing. From acacia to yucca I grow them all here, growing them with pale fingers and cutting them the same. After thirteen years I know which ones are the weakest, and I don't bother on them. 

They won't amount to anything anyways. 

Five years old and I don't remember much; I don't remember much at all for what it's worth. He walked with me, my tiny fist in his meat hand and I chewed on my other, drool running into my dress. We were rich. I know that much, the name that bore Coy was one of wealth and we were sure to dress like it. Act like it, walk like it. Except I never knew how, I was a child and all and I hated the way mother tugged my hair and they hated how I screamed so it was a mutual thing. 

And they left my ass. Trying my hardest to fit into a ball on the wooden chair so I wouldn't touch the cold oak, I sat as my father and Ms. Meryl spoke. Hardly was I concerned, he told me before the walk over that it was 'just business.' If this was business then I want my fair share of the money. I got up when my father did, holding his hand again as he left but he told me to stay. 

"I'll be back soon - we love you." 

It was strange, to say the least. Growing up five years as it was I was raised by maids, my parents both working at different tech industries I'm guessing. I'm not allowed to look for them, so a good bit is just hypothesis. They gave me brown hair and blue eyes and so I remember them as the same, after thirteen years it all starts to drip drip drip away, like excess water off a plant's leaf - I won't ever need to remember them. 

Most of the time I'm sure I don't want to. 

I wasn't raised by them, they hardly cared for me as a child and even now I'm reminded of it; Ms. Meryl was my mother, and so was nature. And in return, I give it all back, they raised me and in return I promised my loyalty. For thirteen years it's been just that, just us and this and these plants and those tarantulas and if any of them need any one thing, I'm here. 

To show my faith. That's what it's worth. 

I shiver in the greenhouse, the humidity in my skin and hair and the outside noises fogged - I shouldn't be caught up in it. In my own emotions, in who I am, I know, I know I know I know I know I shouldn't care this much. When it's my choice in a year of whether I stay or leave, I don't know where I land breathing the grey in my lungs. 

She's raised me. She's loved me and cared for me and taught me everything I know as I count on my fingers - sage, vervain, yarrow, yucca, - she's all I have to thank for all this fucking shit I'm caught in - it has to be me. The ten o'clock downpour heavy in my mind, echoing like gunshots and leaving exit wounds in my ear drums.

I know.

I do it for the faith, and I do it for her. Pale fingers gripped around the trigger like a talisman, I rip rosemary from the dirt and inhale like it's all I have left; it practically is. This is all I have, and I'm not letting it go. Not like the sisters before me and not like the sisters after me, I know - I know, I know what I have to do and the fog is all that's in my way. 

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