I wonder if I’m a vine.
An uninvited intruder into the lives of the normal.
A clinging, alien beast that few (except the Chicago Cubs) desire.
I spent the morning yanking all manner of vines from my parents’ beautyberry bush.
Was it an act of vicarious yanking?
An ironic de-vining of myself from my burdened family?
I fear, I’m much more invasive than a simple vine.