lessons in herbalism 

don't eat the plant if it says, 
"i am urgent today." it is always best
to ask permission before devouring
a halo. sometimes we think we can
cure the butter melting through our ribs.
other times we are bold & we let it happen.
come birds. come wild hogs.
i take a handful of plantain leaves
to make a poultice. i am stung by bees
every single time i open the door.
mostly because i ask if they would
be willing to make me a drone.
i don't mind turning my brain off
if the task is honey. once, i took from
a wine berry bush without asking
& it bit off my fingers. i felt like
that was a fair trade. after all, they were
the best berries i'd ever had. 
i couldn't get the taste out of my mouth 
for days. later, when i passed the bush 
it said, "i miss you." i love how 
plants can play hard-to-get. i love how
one day they are twisted & teeth-ridden 
& the next they are begging to be harvested.
i guess i can relate to that. sometimes
i want a reaper to come & help me
grow out my hair. a corn field on my head
& then harvest it to make dolls.
i am convinced that one day i will find
a little fist growing in the woods.
it will belong to me. cut it from the earth.
every mushroom is an ear to the shadows.
of course they talk about us.
i take out my tongue. roll it up.
press it into the dirt in exchange for
the last pawpaw in the forest. 
i eat it without knowing
whether or not it is as sweet
as i dreamed it would be.