twin spearmint bushes 

on the porch, we ate our hands.
the storm had a shiny baseball bat
& he smacked the rooves of every house
on the mountain. deer ran, carrying
photo albums in their teeth. 
raccoons trying to catch their own hair.
birds with gps pulled up in the hearts.
take me to the next heaven. 
a good july storm will shuck you.
i remember running inside
& closing the blinds
as if to say, "no one is home."
my two spearmint bushes still outside
pounded on the door. they said,
"we remember when the television 
was white as gold." i did not know
what they were talking about.
they were trying to say anything to get inside.
i dreamed of them as house guests.
all of us, myself & my two spearmint bushes
sitting on the couch. their roots 
entangled with mine. one telling me,
"it is not so bad to have to drink the sun."
storm snarl. the lighting knitting a fracture
in the sky's porcelain laugh. 
wind came & undid those two plants.
i tasted their ringing on my tongue.
their eyelids still on the windowsill 
readying for tea. i said i was sorry.
the storm did not. i went to sleep & dreamed
of the roof torn from the throat.
a cloud peering down at me 
& admonishing, "you left them alone."
spearmint growing in the walls. spearmint
busting in door. when i woke
the sky was vanilla again. i went out 
& i found the twin spearmint scattered
across the sidewalk. i picked them up.
i wept. they were speaking in a language
of colors. "blue, black, white."
they survived but they never forgave me.
when i drank their tea it tasted 
like walking backwards.