The night the plants died,
      the night the heat stopped,
       the night it fell to 10 below,

at a precise minute, a definite second,
  at an unknown time,
      an undisclosed hour,

a million plant cells froze,
    a million cell walls cracked,
    a dozen plants exploded,
       a dozen green worlds drowned,

among them snake plants, spiders,
    my grandmother's jade,
        a small cypress.

In the morning, we stirred,
   in winter blanket cocoon,
and woke
  to smell mass murder and
     death for breakfast.



All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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