Her Plot

She sauntered wearily into the room after what seemed like hours of searching for her grandmother. After all of the commotion she was sitting placidly on her bedroom floor- a rug bleached pale green from the sun. Her grandmother was twisted into a most unusual position. She looked almost like a plant who strived for sunlight. She glanced around, imagining her as a plant, a small and frail plant with veins that poked from papery flesh. Her soul- strong roots hidden beneath the surface.Glancing at the plants scattered around the room, She realized their abundance. She counted the plants- all forty six of them. Some danced, splaying their leaves about, others hunched over themselves, looking ill. Lonely- even.
Maybe she was a plant. Grounded in her own plot of dirt, spiraling, and reaching her leaves calling out. Yet, she stayed confined- no one came to uproot her. She was a mere girl staring at her grandmother, thinking of plants. Attempting to reach the sunlight- struggling to find something. Growing taller, yet staying in place.
This was her home now. A meager plot in the soil, thousands of miles away from her forest.
A Cynthia tree.