I went to the market to buy mustard seeds. I needed more for preserving and had no intention of planting such an invasive species.
There were many as I scooped my hand into the basket.
Rough, tiny and dry, I plunged and poured them into my basket tucked against my body.
Shirt stuck against my skin as the heat pricked my pores.
Turning, I bumped into a man whose brown eyes bore resemblance to someone I thought I knew.
There were woops and hollers as goods and monies exchanged hands
sweaty as the sun bore it’s rays through the open windows.
The air was thick with scents of cardamom, roses and fish.
Money in my hand, I turned from the brown eyes of the man I thought I knew
to give the supplier his due amount.
With a sleight of hand, my money and seeds fell to the dirt as the man with the brown eyes flipped the table in front of me with one hand
his other — an outstretched arm against my chest.
He said something to the man selling mustard seeds, but I didn’t quite catch it because I was so consumed with saving what I came for.
I never went back after that happened. For some reason, the authorities were angry with this man with the brown eyes. Now that I think of it, his eyes were angry and sad too. A color too deep for words.
The authorities ended up killing him.
(I guess for flipping the tables and causing a scene? I’m not sure)
They sure made quite the scene with his death though.
I tried not to get too involved.
Rumor has it he came back to life
which would be quite the scene.
I walked by where the temple used to be
(it was destroyed in the war)
and you wouldn’t believe what’s popping up through the rubble.
A thousand little resurrections.
This seed was never meant to be preserved. It seems that it grows where it pleases —
invasive, creative and a bother to some. It’s runners run under and climb over walls.
And just the other day I thought I saw the Man with the brown eyes resting under one of its trees
free of charge.
