Skip to content

Tag: plants

Speech Impediment

You often says things in which
I can say little in return—my growing

deficiency—and the sky turns yellow.
We lay a blanket in a field in the middle

of nowhere and return to find it
covered in earth that cannot grow.

We lie in this space and stare
into a sky filled with clouds that are

lined with mildew. It begins to rain, and
we take in the moisture

and softly blossom with pastel-
colored flowers. We lose the ability

to speak, to use our peripheries,
only knowing that the other lies

under the same sky, forming a hill
in the same space. Like-minded flowers.

Share

No Skin Included.

Break open the branch. Inside–
there is lime and tree foam. Like marrow.

The white liquid that illuminates
the skin, full of leaves and freshly-plucked

strawberries. Like dawn, opening:
he captures this about her

in a painting, surrounds her
with blood oranges, places roses

around her face. The girl becomes something
like a funeral, the white-marrow quality

of her skin, the hair curled across
a pillow, the hands poised

for picking daisies.

Share

Nights that Dreamed Her Open

There was a morning when
she opened herself to horses—

it was a sort of release, the wind
and soft petals under her toes.

She waited out in the field, their bodies
lingering off on the horizon.

They looked black against the sun,
manes twisting, all muscle.

She imagined their eyes, like dew
and something melting, opening her skin

and finding nothing, heart pumping,
the twist of hair over closed eyes.

Share