Green

I walk past it every day.

The same crack. The same spot.

Between the sidewalk and the curb,

where nothing should survive.

It's green.

A bright, stubborn green.

The kind of green that doesn't ask permission.

Last week it was smaller.

This week it's thriving.

It has multiple leaves now.

It's becoming a thing.

It's becoming a life.

There's something obscene about it.

The fact that it's alive

in the most hostile place possible.

The fact that it doesn't apologize

for growing where it shouldn't.

I've started looking for it.

First thing when I walk down this street.

Is it still there?

Is it bigger?

Have they poured poison on it?

They haven't.

It's just growing.

Day by day.

Crack by crack.

Taking over the small space

it's been given.

I don't know why I care.

It's just a weed.

It's just a plant

doing what plants do.

Reaching for light.

Finding water.

Living.

But there's something about watching it

that matters.

Something about witnessing

this small green defiance

in a place that's designed

to kill anything that grows.

I've never touched it.

I've never tried to help it.

I've just watched.

That feels important.

That feels like the only thing

I can do.

Just witness.

Just see.

Just acknowledge

that it's there.

That it's alive.

That it matters.