Thistle

E. T

The thistle grabbed me by the cuff of my jeans, and it stayed there.

“Can I walk along with you? I won’t stay long.”

“Oh, please. Don’t worry.”

I was happy to have a friend for my journey, a little puff of fiber and will, holding on.

We walked, and gazed out on the novel wonders. We passed wild fennel and lemon, we trampled andropogon and beach grass. Each step, we took, we took together, and it was nice.

The next thistle grabbed me by the wrist. He was bigger. and spikier, too. But I didn’t mind helping him along, so I let him walk with me.

“I’ll take you where you want to go.”

“I want to stay with you.”

And so I kept walking, with two thistles. As we passed Bouteloua and wild rice, I felt the thistles poke my ankle, and pinch my wrist. But I didn’t mind. I was making them happy, and that was enough.

Next, I stepped by a patch of daisies, abound with more spiky little puffs. But I walked past, as I didn’t want them to pinch me. Step after step I took, and I realized they had grabbed onto my thigh! At least four more, held tightly to the fabric of my pants. I walked faster. Maybe they would fall off. Maybe

I could go back to just one! Maybe, if I ignored them, I’d have none. I walked faster, and more thistles pinched my legs, my arms. As we walked, salty tears and scarlet blood fell weakly down my wrist and cheek, more of the purple thistles poking my ribs, my neck, my spine. They kept coming, and as I tried to think less, they jabbed more and more into my being.

“Stop! Stop it now! Get off, all of you!” Finally, I yelled and cried, as I swatted them away they started to fall off. I just couldn’t take it.

I was a balloon, weighed down, ready to pop. The thistles, too heavy, and the pain too great.

Finally, I looked down on that first thistle, clinging still to the bloody cuff of my jeans.

“Please.”

As it rolled away, I sat back, I breathed, and as a balloon, I rose.

Do you want to come over And sit in my room And ignore all the ghosts Sitting next to us

Do you want to go back And imagine it’s the start And pretend that now we know What we are doing

And can you hug me Too tight and too long Saying sorry for things Others have done

And can I hug you back