Once she lived in Arizona and she got an award, so her mother sent her an azalea. It was pink
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 and pretty, so out of place in the apartment of nubby beige and ochre chair covers,
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 cigarette smoke, monsoon grit.<\/p>\n

All her life, she\u2019d been touching her fingertips to a voice she hoped would thrive. Sometimes it
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 was her interior smartass that woke up when she was drunk. Sometimes it was
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 weeping\u00a0or a terrible cough.
\nWhen she heard herself in the night, the songs she yearned for unraveled, held no duration.<\/p>\n

The azalea bloomed. Yet most days she drank herself downward; she\u2019d start out lively, bellowing
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Running on Empty<\/i> while flinging herself around the so-called living room. She
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0showered, went to work, tidied up, read books, but she can\u2019t recall grocery shopping
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0or making meals other than coffee. Did she ever vacuum? There was a time a dead
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0azalea in its crimson foil perched by the doormat waiting for a ride. \u00a0<\/p>\n

It used to be that the boyfriends were most important\u2014someone\u2019s presence, the testing of that
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 sliver of voice this woman called love. <\/i>When young, she\u2019d wanted a name that was
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 more romantic, the name of someone in a book! At first, she thought Laura<\/i>; even
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 better, Lauren,<\/i> which was less common! But the only Lauren she\u2019d ever known had
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 been raped by a man who came up the fire escape in Baltimore. That girl, already so
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 wildly frail, was paired up with guitar-wielding George and his boa constrictor. Back
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 then, few women had language for one another; they kept it to soften men. The
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 woman, with that dead plant still at her doorway, tossed those memories like socks
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 into the bureau drawer. Still so many missing, so many torn that weren\u2019t hers with
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 their secret and disheveled mysteries. \u00a0<\/p>\n

So now she has watched her mother\u2019s body die\u2014vivid, shocking, slow. Mean-mouthed, bossy,
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 big-hearted, the mother continued to suck the voice out of her daughter while
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 pressuring her with gifts: an enormous illuminated Bible, one furry black bear
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 footstool, an original pen and ink llama cartoon, gift certificates to Land\u2019s End, and her
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 death\u2014that stock-still absence, its whirlwind.<\/p>\n

What happened to Lauren, to Baltimore, to the Arizona roommates who once or twice watered
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 the azalea? Pain flourished but never without a sense that an array of jeweled futures
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 was waiting to be plucked, tried on like disco clothes, glittering but easily discarded
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 were they ill-fitting.<\/p>\n

Her mother\u2019s mouth fell open all the time. Out in the world, so many voices on the page or
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 singing, TV voices, politicians\u2014some rude, some elegant\u2014so loud and intrusive they
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 drowned out children screaming from hospitals, they chewed the edges of sitcoms,
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 like dogs howling or that lone rooster interrupting the donkey\u2019s bray from the top of
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 the pasture. <\/p>\n

4 a.m., her roommate\u2019s cat paws this woman\u2019s cheek, mews, and briefly, touch becomes voice. In
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Phoenix, monsoon dust settles far from a man\u2019s hand pressed down hard on
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 someone\u2019s mouth back in Baltimore. Yet one time is always<\/i> another time as both
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 women wake, woven into early birdsong. \u00a0A person may keep reaching her forefinger
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 towards a first word, but it\u2019s the second and third\u2014the onward\u2014which she\u2019s really
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 hoping for, intends.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Once she lived in Arizona and she got an award, so her mother sent her an azalea. It was pink \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 and pretty, so out of place in the apartment of nubby beige and ochre chair covers, \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 cigarette … Continue reading Pink Azalea<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3653,"featured_media":1809,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[6855,62],"tags":[6869],"issue":[6870],"class_list":["post-1808","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-non-fiction","category-poetry","tag-femmes","issue-6870"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/env-greenfieldcc-dev.kinsta.cloud\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1808","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/env-greenfieldcc-dev.kinsta.cloud\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/env-greenfieldcc-dev.kinsta.cloud\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/env-greenfieldcc-dev.kinsta.cloud\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3653"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/env-greenfieldcc-dev.kinsta.cloud\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1808"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/env-greenfieldcc-dev.kinsta.cloud\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1808\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/env-greenfieldcc-dev.kinsta.cloud\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1809"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/env-greenfieldcc-dev.kinsta.cloud\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1808"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/env-greenfieldcc-dev.kinsta.cloud\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1808"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/env-greenfieldcc-dev.kinsta.cloud\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1808"},{"taxonomy":"issue","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/env-greenfieldcc-dev.kinsta.cloud\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/issue?post=1808"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}