throwing stones at the neighbors house
they turned into flip phones.
once i texted scripture to my boyfriend
& he told me he wanted to be 
turned into a statue. we were children
in the petrified forest where all the trees
wore their used-to-be through & through.
my fingers fell off one by one.
i begged my father to make it stop
but he was already a stump. colors of
moss & amber in his face. i love to sit 
on his back & think about perminance.
the moon grew a lush beard & refused to shave.
i have become more & more interested 
in learning what remains after transformation.
is the old me inside a box somewhere
for a future scientist to say,
"yes here is a fragment" or is the tree
living inside the stone. was the tree
always a stone? i don't know what i would gain
by knowing most answers but there is a 
pizza delivery car with it's blinkers on outside
& i need someone to come & deliver a past to me
just like this. i just want to know
if my bones once housed moss & lichen
& if maybe they will again. we walked
in the forest & the forest was the inside
of everyone's chest. was a glove box. was a telephone. 
to be a creature is to go this between. 
between now & then. between bones. ribs. 
through femurs & trees.

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