sunflower seeds

i make a house of sunflower seeds.
zebra in the pit of
of my running.
enough salt to keep us heavy
through the worst parts.
i don't mean to be
so small. i never realized
that a whole fist fits
in the shell.
the year we grew sunflowers
i lied & told everyone 
that they were sisters of mine.
we held hands. went to confession.
pleaded guilty. 
we plucked our petals.
fed them to the stray cats.
the mountain was always
a threat. if you are not
swallowed enough, you might
have to climb over
& to the other side.
now, my neighbors often offer water.
they say, "did you know
if you drink you will inevitably turn
into a fish?"
they say it like it's such a good thing.
i like to be a mammal.
at least i like it as much 
as anyone does. i don't want
to relearn how to talk to trees. i don't want to
wake up in a baseball field 
with a bat in my hands. 
the sunflowers bloom
even when i beg them not to. even when
i want to be the quiet dead place
with smoke coming from
my mouth. a fire is always 
a dream of meeting someone else.
someone brighter 
than yourself.
i blink & my eyes are seeds too.
i bite my lip. try my best
not to weep but i do
& there goes my head. all the flowers.
all the fire. 
i cannot see anything
but yellow. i walk around
in a busy street looking
for the little house so that i 
can crawl back inside. 
plug my ears with nettle 
& keep the baseballs 
where they belong 
down down deep in my throat.