The bookkeeper was fishing for numbers, and the marketing expert asked for metrics
we could not retrieve. At the paint-splattered studio table, we sat with our hands
folded in our laps, feeling oddly scolded, and began an indelicate and fruitless defense
as a spreadsheet curled thinly between us. Later, exhausted by the math,
we stumbled home to make dinner and water the new plum tree in the backyard.
Nearby, a fledgling vine of tomatoes was on the verge of announcing its first flower.
The sign at the nursery had given a date by which the plant would begin to yield fruit,
but in the delight of those yolk-yellow petals, and the pride of our own small,
horticultural achievement, we'd completely forgotten
to keep count.