dig 

before i'm ready to 
go to sleep i sit on my
knees  
& scoop
handful after handful of
dirt out of my mattress.
i get stones caught under my
nails & i scrape past
meal worms & beetles
rolling over each other like
pearls escaped from
my grandmother's necklaces
burrowed deep in the closet.
i peel back the blankets 
to have more room to dig
& i get soil all over
my bed room.
i'm hoping someone will vacuum
it up in the morning.
i decided to plant myself
& see what i grow into--
to finally teach the clouds
painted on my ceiling to rain 
all over my coiled body--
watch my freckles burst into
roots-- 
this is how your 
body comes apart into a million
little veins-- clutching to
earth & the pebbles & the gritty 
dirt like a banister.
one year after we went apple picking
i begged my father to grow us
apple trees in the backyard but he
said it was too much work to grow
apple trees around here--
he said that only crab apples 
grew easily.
there was a crab apple tree in
my aunt's driveway 
& when the fruit was falling
i liked to pop the plump orbs
under my red canvas shoes like
bubble wrap--
wrap me in another layer of
dirt & wait for the first 
fleck of sun--
so i learned to plant myself--
tuck my knees into my
chest & curl--
green knees & blossoms caught
all in my throat waiting to become
apples--
in the morning i wake up as
a full blown tree--
branches clawing at the ceiling--
arms shattering my
windows as if to puncture
a hole in the sky--
float apples on the clouds.
i made myself an apple tree
of all the colors & kinds of apples--
golden delicious dangle
from my ears--
gala from my elbows & of
course when the wind is strong
enough a handful of crab apples
shakes loose from my hair--