a single leaf i make the first tear down the middle of the leaf, right along the little spine. i steal them from bushes by the red brick apartment complex up the street. i like to walk & consider all the people coming in & out of their dwelling places. i wonder if any of them pull leaves from these bushes. if they also like the texture. i promise i'm not a destructive person but that's not entirely true. if i could i would probably break more glasses-- steal them like leaves from the high shelf & toss them out the window. for a split second i could make believe they were birds & somewhere between the ground & the ledge they would flap & save themselves. there is a lot of falling going on. i count the ledges in my house. i tear the leaves until there's nothing left to tear. flecks of green scattered on the sidewalk. i tell the bush i'm sorry that this is just something i need right now. to feel this injury. to consider my own spine & how thin it could be if i were to one day grow from a feeble branch. if i were to one day shutter in the november wind waiting for the warmth of fingers pressed down on me. would i expect care? would i expect laceration? i do this. i do. i sit & i hope to be torn apart. i pick a porch & become a knot of mums. i call the numbers of old lovers & hang up before they can answer. i imagine their fingers around their phones as if ready to rip them apart. the leaves produce a sticky residue. blood i think feeling guilty. i think of my own blood & wish it was green. wish it were less so that i would make less mess. wish there were men hiding in the bushes for me to reach in & hold in my hand. wish they would tell me to injure them kindly & i would show them just where to tear me in return. we come apart symmetrically just like leaves. i search the bushes & no one waits there so i climb. i sing my apologies to the plant. to tell the plant to hurt me if it wants but it does nothing. let's the wind trace a finger across each limb. i ask the wind to touch me the same & it does.