I remember going along a pathway near my grandma’s house. It was a long path back from a park. An isolated area where backyards faced each other. It felt far longer than it actually was because of my age at the time. I would try to peer through the slats of the fence on occasion. Trying to get an idea of what other people’s lives are like. It is so difficult to see anything when you are so low to the ground.

The only thing that broke the monotony of the path was a single plant that had grown over the top of the fence. A big bush of puzzlegrass had broken containment. Hanging low and bent over under its own weight. My mother told me that it was a weed, but I was interested in the way it grew. Segments that grew upon segments. Able to detach at a tough yank. Like prehistoric bamboo that had been transported forward in time.

I pulled a branch off and twirled it around. The layers upon layers. Much like people. I know that people have been compared to onions and other plants, but I think the puzzlegrass is a better example. People grow over time. Evolving and shedding broken parts. One aspect being removed does not mean the death of the person. There is always opportunity to regrow yet every segment is part of a whole. The same individual created from the bottom up.

I pulled each segment apart one at a time. Watching in fascination as they scattered on the dirt next to the road. By no means was I being destructive. Instead, I was re enacting a feeling I had felt many times before. By the time I left the area, I was out of pieces to scatter. They would be left where they fell. Returning to the earth or to feed new life, I would never know.

As I returned home, even as the path faded from mind, I could not help but think of the puzzlegrass left behind that I had taken the branch from.