mandrake

we would go out in the yard 
burying microphones. the talk
of worms & mandrakes.
they would say things like,
"buy one get one free." tongues
from the plastic water. a little flute
in the sky saying, "you are not
you are not you are not."
once i fell in love with a soil person.
he reached up only a hand from the earth.
pointed upwards. there was the piano falling
it was too late. when you are starving
even a radio is an oasis. sometimes
i would pretend i was a host too.
"up next is a terrible rain." the mandrakes 
are always telling lies about the worms.
the worms insist that they are beautiful.
pocket mirrors. a collection basket
full of mice. is it enough to talk to an angel? 
is it enough to see the figure
of a man in a mandrake or are we just
too pastel-thumbed. blurring the lines
between ghost & girl. between horizon 
& a deadly cliffside. the view is everything.
the sky bleeds from a tiny slit
in its side. sticky jam red. orange bruise.
i pluck the mandrake 
from the soil & he scrambles to cover
his unmentionables. my heart breaks 
as it should. i clothe him in a doll dress.  
put him in a bassinette. he asks,
"were you ever a mandrake?" i tell him
i was not but once a whole tree
grew from my head overnight.
i had to find a lover to chop it does
but it still sways. the phantom limb.
songbirds come to me in search
of the branches.