47.2 - Spring 2018

Page 128

Sixteen-and-a-half years later, during the longest winter of my life, pulling brown bits off of a dying Boston fern, making obvious metaphors and wondering if I’ll ever feel warm again. * In a few months, just before our second Pittsburgh summer, the snake plant will send up greenish-white spikes of blossom in the light of the front room. We will be so surprised. We didn’t know it could do that.



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