the company of wax beans & birds  

bean stalks have been finding their way
into my house under the front door.
too many beans to be eaten. i watch the pods swell
like earlobes-- each listening 
to the sounds of birds telling the same story 
over & over. i want to write important poems 
full of humans but all i have are the peaches
at the bottom of my fridge & then now 
these beans. if the beans are magic 
i might never know. the birds are telling a story 
of a girl lost in the woods.
i say "i'm a boy" & the birds say
"everyone is a girl in the woods." if there is 
a fairytale lurking here it might never open.
on the back porch i go stare at the mountain 
& ask the mountain what its father's name was.
the mountain keeps its lips shut.
i don't use the stove, instead 
i use it as a place to pile
handfuls of beans i'm picking.
the birds outside want a bean or two
so i open the windows & let them in.
so many feathers. beaks hungry for ears.
i cover mine & wait for them to leave.
it is lonely to watch a plant grow.
could it be i wish i had someone
peering at my green neck 
& green arms--someone considering
my thrist for the sun? the stalk spreads 
all the way down my hall & towards the porch.
i tell the stalk it doens't want 
to climb the mountain. it's too steep 
& impossibly rocky. it's full of mouths
not attached to bodies. the stalk listens
& lays down to rest on the cool floor of my kitchen.
in my fruit bowl, the last clementine
starts to rot--sinking into itself.
outside on the street a flowering tree
spits all its heart onto the road.
i ask the stalk to stay-- to please
curl around me while i sleep.
cocoon me in an august swing. i am 
discussing my future with foliage.
i am letting a peach pit rest
beneath my tongue. the birds comes back
this time just to stare at me.
i ask if there is an evil witch
living in the trees. the birds
don't answer. i know that means there is.
i am a girl in the woods. in the mirror
i try to count my strands of hair.
the bean stalk knocks on the door.
it wants to watch.