Flower Alphabet 

i press my ear 
to the ground to listen 
for landmines; 
voices: orchestra 
& maroon.
there are land mines so 
old that their makers
are in the ground there
with them. 
talking to 
the bodies, 
the explosives mutter
something about steam,
something about iron.
something about
wanting the burst
to be over, the dream
they have each night
of wrong steps, a small
rabbit's foot pressed 
into violin air. 
all the while the dirt
recites the names 
of flowers in 
alphabetical order
starting with 
Aconitum. will
i end up a land mine
or a body? i can't
know that yet
but i can practice.
i dig holes in 
the yard & crawl 
inside, taking 
all the speech 
in. i too learn
the order of the flowers,
i whisper 
African Daisy
Agapanthus
Alchemilla
in hopes that 
i will bypass
becoming a corpse 
or carcass of waiting,
underneath 
the soil i ask
the land mines if
they know how to 
disarm themselves 
& they scream, tongues
as cymbals, smashing
the words of brass
& clarinet, language
as needles in the soil,
the bodies speaking too now, 
pleading for the mines 
to go off already 
& bring more
bodies down to where
the roots clutch 
at us with thin
soft hands. i shake
myself out 
of the earth, spitting
gravel & grasping 
handfuls of grass. 
have they all forgetten
about grass down there?
the loud & watermelon smell
of green. i breathe 
it in & listen 
ear to ground again.
i can't help it,
it can't help it.
i say, 
Aconitum:
common name: monkshood