propagation 

sometimes i cut off a hand 
& grow it like a spider plant child.
there you go little hunger. paint
a wall of the house. punch a hole
in the old moon to let 
the snakes out. when my lover
was courting me, he would cut off
one of his fingers at a time. let them
sprout roots & then gift them to me 
for my windowsill. i never remembered
to water them & so they died 
one by one. the ants came like
infinite rosaries to underworld 
each of the limbs. i was not made 
to care for vegetation but i know
i need to learn. everything worthwhile 
is seed started. knees tucked into chest. i wait
for water. i wait for you by the door. 
i still feel guilty about all the arms i've
wasted on my own running.
nothing ever returns the same. 
a ferris wheel in the refrigerator 
turns, empty & waiting for tarantulas.
once i fell from a ladder. i was a girl.
i crashed on the living room floor
& came apart into thousands of genders.
i am now just what was left after
chasing the sun. i am not interested 
in living intact. instead, i am looking 
for pots in the parking lot. i am 
watering my eyes. your dried thumb,
the abandoned carrot. in the apartment
without walls, i planted a potato
not knowing it would rot beneath 
the soil. what a spleen. what a liver.
leaves reaching up for dusty handfuls of light.