May 5, 2026

proof

Two weeks ago, a friend placed, on the counter next to my kitchen sink,
two cherry tomatoes—one yellow, one red—in separate pots filled with dirt.
She said, “I want you to have as many tomatoes as possible,” assured me
the seedlings would come poking through soon. Last night, on the eve
of my 54th birthday, Nina stood before the pots and made a gesture that looked
like a cross between a plea and a blessing. “Let’s go!” she cajoled, scanning
the few square inches of the containers for any hint of green, wanting the gift
of proof to give me. “Let’s go!” But what is better evidence than the fruit
already here, a friend holding the vision of my future abundance, waving
the magic wand of her hands, watching the earth for signs of promise.