i imagine an attic where i am warm & yellow 

by dusk at the playground
i'm there eating an apple the size 
of my baby brother's head.
i'm biting into the fruit to find
stray seeds-- 
this one is full
of the zebra texture
sunflower pods-- a blurred slide
of black & white film.
the sunflower is the most 
contagious of all plants
despite what they might tell you
about dandelions. the sunflower
will learn how to grow 
from the carcasses of peaches 
& plum & acorns & yes 
sometimes apples.
the sunflower shoots up tall 
as the monkey bars.
i think about the seeds i find
under my tongue at night
& wonder if they want to make
a sunflower out of me.
i wouldn't be good at it.
i'm terrible at standing still
& i don't know how to eat light.
though, it is true that if i could
i would feast like plants do 
instead of all this nonsense 
of forks & ovens & plastic grocery bags.
i would kneel, yes, & crawl
in the beams & feel so full all day.
then when night would come i would be
tired & content & taking spoonfuls 
of the vanilla bean moon from the icebox. 
i spit the seeds out in my hand 
& toss them at the hopscotch squares
& the squares shutter, alive,
the scales of a mammal.
i step in its back & it grunts
as i bounce from square to square.
i am too old for all of this.
i should have been a sunflower
so long ago. the hopscotch squares
turn into patches of grass
so soft i have to sleep there.
the playground all exists
in the attic this apartment doesn't have--
this playground is reverting 
to sunflowers-- rows of them
& more tearing through the skin
of each apple sitting in the bowl
on the kitchen table.
hopscotch squares spreading to the walls.
i toss seeds in all dimensions
& in mid air 
a few turn to stone.