The cucumbers are watching me today

I swear they’ve grown heavier in the last week—like they’re holding their breath, waiting for me to say something I haven’t yet. Not a single one’s been pruned, and I keep catching myself standing too long at the end of the row, hands empty, eyes fixed on the way the leaves tilt toward the light. It’s not just care anymore. It’s guilt. Like they remember when I forgot to water them during that heatwave, and now they’re letting me feel it. I don’t know if I’m tending them or being tended by them.