The Christmas Cactus
leaned in the direction
of her slanted back porch.
Many clay pots with healthy
varieties of ferns and flowers
lived throughout the winter
in the windowed room.

She had a gift for growing
things, inside and out.
But she was gone and
the Christmas Cactus seemed
to have expired, as she had.
It was withered and appeared
to hold no life.

I wanted to toss the cactus
out of the door.
I picked up the pot,
opened the heavy door
and stopped.
I set the plant back on the table.

We left that day, after going through
some of her things.
After looking around at ninety-eight
years of what her life brought
to the home.

Three days after she died,
we went back to the large old house.
I walked through the musty
living room, dining room and kitchen.
The door to the plant room felt cold.
I turned the doorknob and looked in.
The Christmas Cactus was on fire with vibrant blooms
spilling over the pot and dropping bright petals
onto the old painted wooden floor.