Letter to a Chrysanthemum

Dear Jolly Plant,

When I first received you as a gift, I was thrilled. You brought such joy to my drabby desk, with your rich red flowers. I even overlooked that cheap pot you were living in, covered with some sort of green aluminum foil, apparently to make you look more festive. You inspired me. I found myself humming little Christmas carols as I worked, and wearing lame neckties with snowmen and stockings.

But then four o'clock came on Friday, the first day of vacation. I shot out the door, ready to spend time with family, eat foods high in fat content and cholesterol, and gather around the space heater. I left you behind.

The custodian found you alone in a dark room, stems reaching desperately over the side of the pot. He said you were probably trying to touch the small bit of sunlight poking through a broken blind on the east wall. He gave you a drink, nursed you back to health, and pruned you back to life. You were left with only ten leaves. The rest had been amputated in an act of sacrifice.

Can you ever forgive me?

Your sorrowful owner,
The Chrysanthemum Killer