Last night I heard a long ripping sound but didn’t realize that a plant was uprooting, preparing to relocate. At dawn I saw my blue mammoth creep across the yard with huge paddle leaves working the air. I ran out to grab it and return it to its plot, but it shrugged me off with ease. I hadn’t realized hostas could get so hostile, that they could be so strong. It’s big, a good six feet across, but I’m big, too, and have good hands. Not good enough, though. The blue mammoth sidles up to the house and splats against it. It’s crushing a clutch of day lilies, but I guess that’s something plants must settle among themselves. Now in the scalding heat of noon I see that the critter has moved along, down to the far, shady end of my property. It seems to be looking out at the view of Monadnock. I’m tired of wrestling with this thing. It’s been uprooted so long it’s probably weakening. It’s only a plant isn’t it? I grab a leaf and tug, and after a token struggle it consents to follow me back to the garden. To coax it back into the ground, I’ve renovated the location from which it uprooted. I’ve lined the hole with fresh loam and a dose of plant food. The hosta looks suspicious but circles like a dog about to lie down. At last it settles in place, and I tuck the soil around its roots. I’d swear that it’s smirking, but I don’t see how it can do that without a mouth.
Blue Mammoth Hosta
William Doreski has published three critical studies and several collections of poetry. He has taught writing and literature at Emerson, Goddard, Boston University, and Keene State College. His most recent books are A Black River,A Dark Fall,and Train to Providence.Visit his blog at williamdoreski.blogspot.com.