spearmint 

can you learn to live on a sound?
i fill my ears with mint until 
i can taste it. i don't know how anyone
has been getting up & cutting a mouth
in the leather. all my methods for survival
have rotted from the throat. as a little girl,
i would go & ring a bell in the yard
for the plants. my favorite was always
the spearmint bush. i appreciate how 
they grew without punctuation.
legs stretched out along the side 
of the house. head thrown back. i feel
like the mint follows me wherever i go.
even at the roach apartment on union street
there was a spearmint bush who grew,
reaching an arm out of the chain link fence
of the dead house next door. i loved to place
just one hand in my mouth. chew until
i was sweet & bright. the world feels 
as loud as it's ever been. i burry my nose
then my teeth. i kiss the earth
where i leave them. it is best not to spend
too long mourning all the pieces of you
that decide to never return. i feel like my girlhood
is a fantom limb. a dangling urgency.
the spearmint does not hum. it does not
beat a bruise. it does not whisper.
instead, it has a call like a neon angel.
it says, "there is sugar in every star
& stars in every breath." that is kind of 
too woo woo for me but i find some comfort.
i don't take the mint out. instead i add more 
& more. i ask myself, "how much 
spearmint does it take until i am just
as wild & ardent?" the tiny white flowers
bloom behind my ears. i eat them. 
have a wedding. make a shrine to my smallness.
to the world's smallness. the shrine is the bush. 
i want to know, "will this be enough?"