stone & the bloom of foxgloves 

there are over 20 different types of 
foxgloves & all of them ring when they 
bloom from between the crack in the sidewalk.
i tell them not to follow me-- i tell
them that i'm trying to catch a bus back
to my own skull-- the one they carved
into the side of a mountain. why do 
we keep doing this? making people out
of stone-- don't we know that's how 
ghosts get trapped on earth. there's
theodore roosevelt on the top of 
mount rushmoore with his loaded gun--
he's shooting straight at nothing. 
the scientific name for foxgloves
is digitalis which literally just means "finger"
because you can stick your fingers in
them when they're fully form. i open
my mouth for them to put their fingers 
inside, the ghosts of a coming rain storm.
i taste stone. i pick the foxgloves &
test one out as a nightcap, but it envelopes 
all of me. inside i wonder if this will
turn poison. some of the species are deadly:
call the witch gloves & the dead men's bells,
they ring. i crawl inside my own ear for
shelter. i whisper to him not to listen--
to focus on being a stone. if we break
concentration it's all over-- we'll
go back to being all flesh & skeleton.
i put the foxgloves one on each finger them
until they form latex. the gloves remind
me of the dentist stooped to rub his
fingers against my teeth. i tell him
to stop looking for the roots-- i tell
him the flowers are growing wherever they
want but not from inside me. i'm careful
of that. the foxgloves ring your heart too
loudly, i don't want to die i just want
to sit here in the cool stone quiet of 
my own skull. the headphones are playing 
white noise. the rain falls from a shower head:
hot, steam rising. i use the plant's 
open mouths to collect warm water to drink.
we're a water bottle left out on the front
seat of the car. they don't use them for medicine 
much anymore-- abandoned for better alternatives
& the flowers are vengeful. i pluck them
off when i see them because they're skilled
at whispering. they want to be filled with 
a body & then eaten. i can't tell if they have
ever had good intentions but i trust nature
too much. i let them try me on if they ask nicely.
one slips over my tongue. my heart, 
carved into the side of a cliff. magenta &
white speckled mouth & scarlet & lavender--
open my mouth-- tongue turned into a bell. 
i ring myself-- ear echoing. you won't
find me this way. follow the foxgloves.