spider plants

we know very little about ourselves.
proliferating, the spider plant
carries her offspring by green nooses
as they dangle below her waist.
i had a friend who cultivated them.
as girls, we'd sit on her porch late june 
as she carefully removed the infants 
& repotted each. soon they would have newborns
& so on & so on. our humid faces sweat-blinking 
in the midday swelter. our own repotting,
happening beneath each fingernail & between
each tooth. that morning, taking my heart
& watching it multiply, waiting for it 
to rest in between divisions. we have 
so many yearnings to keep track of. 
in the mirror, fog blurred every past self 
i'd ever had to preen. my friend, she'd looked at me 
with eyes full of spiders. the extra legs
we manage in the dark. our dissapointments.
the failures of our knuckles. she was 
a dancer & i always wished i could be one.
kept her ballet shoes hung on the front doorknob
& they clopped like horse hooves. 
the porch overflowed with lineage.
she said she didn't have enough. she wondered
if she'd ever be able to stop. just a joke.
pinched the neck of another & plucked
the daughter free. i wished plants
could speek. i would have asked 
if they knew how we felt--if they could see
the selves i was growing. if i was
green enough to make it. she gave me one
to take home. i set the spider plant
on my windowsill & it died 
not much later. i try to avoid
holding funerals for desires but 
for the spider plant i dug a hole
beneath the pine tree. laid its skeleton
to rest. root cementry.
said farewell to its spreading.
cupped one of my new hearts 
& fed it nothing but water.

i'm staring at the sun & letting my eyes go egg/yolk

ooze like a shatter. all over 
the uv. once the atmosphere was held
together by staples & now we have glint.
a joint gouging. no one blinking 
for the moon. the right boy
isn't waiting. the right tower
was already built. now we just have
to feel for it. if you were really coming
you would have written your name 
in the sky. i take all the blue & stuff it down.
i wanted your empty leach. i wanted 
the last segments of sweat. summer sister
what are you doing to survive the cold? 
no more more moritician music, just 
a siren etching itself into the screen door.
i set my teeth out on the counter
one by one like guns. once, i took 
a picture of the sun & i saw your face
in the glare. freckles & all.
i am in the process of multipying.
soon there will be enough spiders
to go around. take a tape measure 
& trace the distance between here & 
there. find the sun is getting closer.
knocking on the back door. you never disclosed
where you live. who is going
to water the puppets? who is going to teach
the babies how to evaporate?
never mind all of that. 
you were supposed to be a great
at trickling down the side of
any given planet. i collect you
in several beer glasses. amber as 
the afternoon. sun swallowing 
greedy doorknobs. when we are new
i want to take you on a trip to 
my favorite soup bowl. look down
in the broth & see our faces.

perennial 

your face was like the orange potted mum
i bought & cradled home from the farmer's market.
buckled in the backseat like a fresh infant.
mine mine mine. i peered between your winks
& your bones. i wanted to follow 
every inch of your green.
yellow flower irises. all your necks.
i was its lover & i left the plant
out on the porch.  
the breeze rummaged in our october sadness. 
i knew you were unloving me
but kept tracing the season: corn husks 
& drunk apples & mums.
a pair of keys. a missing tooth.
dead leaves sticking to the backs
of our legs. i wanted nothing more
than a porch to decorate or a pumpkin 
to wear as a skull. the mums
made fists & knocked
on the screen door. the mums
laughed at innapropriate moments.
hurt your feelings & stole your tooth brush.
open palm, i would come outside
to stroke the plant like how
i used to caress your cheek.
i couldn't help but think of "mum"
& "mother." our mothers hovering
over us like skeletal trees. i sent you
a postcard from up the hall saying 
"we should take a walk." 
you were always the better seer,
could witness a bee disrobing
or the last leaf dropping 
from the yard maple. me, i distract myself.
i started conversations with different
flowers in the mum nest. i held your hand
& he ambled through a year or more.
took our shoes off & planted them
in the hardening winter soil.
alone, i pluck flowers from the bush
& pocket them. you pry bark
from a dead tree i cannot see. 
gone but my love pangs are perennial.
again & again. your knuckles
& the mums still sitting here
with their teeth clenched. ready to sob.
gone now too. just the black plastic pot
tipped over on its forehead.
your mother, my mother still
looming like a lost promise.
do you miss me this time of year?

animals who lie like i want to

i watch the earthworms promise
winter is almost over. they are frozen
like hyphens all across the driveway.
january is a jungle of yearning.
i discover two house centipedes 
who both claim to have found god.
crazy with salvation they 
run the walls. their legs multiply.
i kill one & the other believes
it was just part of god's plan. hides himself 
& prays a miniature rosary.
the songbirds tell everyone who walks by
soon you'll be a new person.
i don't know if that's even what i need.
often times "new" just just a synonym 
for "extract." extract this person
who i have been living. i met 
a cow in the pasture & she was 
making convenants with the color green.
she assured me i would live a year longer
than i think i will. i know three people
who died last month but they don't really
seem dead. once i slept with a boy
whose cat tried to pass me
a fertility pamphlet & explained i would
make a good mother. i thanked him
& folded the glossy paper tight. i would be
so afraid of having someone depend on me.
already, the insects in my home
depend on me for stories & scraps.
if i could lie like them i would
convince myself that i am only 
just begining--that i have plenty
of time to come undone. one finger
& one strand of hair at a time.
i miss the way my heart used to cry water
& how the birds used to feed me in my sleep. 
i have it good though.
i have two lungs & sometimes a bathtub 
& sometimes i eat with my hands 
when no one is looking. a crow
tells me i will find love soon.
i tell the crow to show me where
& he flies off into the clouds.
i cross my legs. i collect feathers
for the future. i carry close
every prophecy, especially 
the ones that are false.

the ulcers in my mouth become portals 

where are you widening? 
i'm no stranger to stigmata 
& other blights. root with my tongue
in the reeds. you kissed me 
like a jungle flower. i'm a collage 
of sting. i don't want to be sewn back up.
i want to follow the openings 
until there's no more tunnel 
or till. sharp red gum. i am chewing
on the length of our hearts.
i want to know how 
much sadness a throat can burrow 
& how long we are going to wait
for the next pair of teeth.
i am missing every once-flat skin 
where we used to take our biting.
&, like a bird feeder, you parcel 
yourself into like coins. 
the trick is to tell the portal
you can't be gone very long.
i disspear into my own skin.
water & worry. we could have been
gate-cutters. we could still 
etch fences on each other's backs.
i want you to be a scissor holder
or at least the knife you search for
in the dim kitchen's light.
i open my mouth for you to see
& the light shines through
all the holes. my perferated 
cheese grater skull. little disco light.
dance myself a new face & you will
crowd-find me & think i'm a new devil. 
in my dreams, i take you 
onto my tongue 
& you sticky-note flicker.
i want to tell you 
what you shouldn't know. here are
all my pockets. look quickly 
they're each getting deeper.

fifth grader 

ducklings grew like dandelions
in the courtyard, contagious as each year.
their egg-selves still vibrating 
like dead moons. amoung them,
we felt like prophets. fifth graders
with ripe knees & knotted hair.
they darted. hid inside our steepeld fingers.
we took turns watching them. their mother,
like any good blouse, screamed & screamed
about the windows & the sun. nearby
the saucony river turned fabric
in the april laughter. i touched 
the torses of trees like the hems 
of skirts. i tried to read books & gave up,
let them turn back into nestlings. 
mothers pushed children from branches.
i fly briefly from the attic
to the front yard & determined
it would be best to stay yellowing 
as long as i could. duck bills brimmed
over the foreheads of buildings.
in gym class we ran laps around the school
& i dreamed of the ducklings asleep
like hot pockets. eventually they got
too old to keep. their legs turned grey.
their eyes sharpened. they argued
with their mother & the janitors who tried
in vain to teach them how to be children.
in life some is always teaching someone else
who is the child. in the rivers
the ducks shed their duck faces 
& never looked back. daffodils squawked.
the macadem spat rubber balls 
back at us. we played & checked
behind our ears for down feather.
at home, i checked my mother
for webbed feet & hands. i took my age 
& held it until it turned smooth 
as river rock. the ducklings swelled
large as obelisks. i could barely sleep
they were so big. i got older though
& the school dissolved. i found yellow
in the strangest places.
now, i want to be someone's child.
i can be as soft as you want. i can tell you 
where the last feathers went. 

autobiography of a 7th grade vampire

i put my fangs in one by one
in my grimy bathroom mirror. wrapped a chain
around my neck. put ear buds in 
& listened to screamo music i didn't really like.
halloween came too quickly that year. we had
a test in biology on plant cells. 
all my vesitcles carried blood 
like tea cups around my body. 
i had too much skin & fat. i imagined 
my bodies processes as i walked to school
in a black leather skirt & torn leggings.
wanted to be truely undead. 
where would i hide in this town?
i would use the old limestone kilns
by the creek as cripts. cross my arms
over my chest & sleep away the sun.
there would be no more memorised structures 
or equations or locker rooms where girls
inspected each other's stomachs. 
face painted dollar-store makeup white. 
some smeared on my hands. i was coming apart
already. wiped my palms on a patch of dead grass.
black lipstick. black fingernails.
i would have to feed on squirrels 
& field mice. even this sounded easier
than hallway-shoes & mouths beating
like bat wings. i loved nothing about my body
for a whole year & more 
but in the costume 
i felt possible. like, in the future
i might hold a then intangible power.
outside, on the walk to school, all the trees
were still performing photosythesis
& the grass too probably. i always thought of it
as little hands scoops sugar
from the sun & stuffing it into thousands 
of miniature lips. i wished i could
feed myself like that. i thought about how vampires
are kind of the opposite of plants. we had to take 
what was not readily replenished.
we had to feed in a way that was
irrevocably detructive. in homeroom
i folded my hands on the desk. winced 
at the orange sun brimming through 
the wide classroom window. wishing
i was immortal. the bell rang.
i forgot the names of half the plant's structures
& just wrote "blood" over & over.
after school i tried to turn into a bat.
but instead followed my thighs
back up the street & across the field
to my home by the corn fields
to take off my face. i could hear
the leaves eating their last bites
before turning red & orange & brown. 

pig heart

pigs swelled like apples
in their fields & thought nothing
of college degrees or science.
they told each other secrets
about teeth & sky. dug their names
in the dirt with hooves.
freshman year of college
we dissected pig hearts
in pairs. i was wearing a white dress
that showed my shoulders.
it might as well have been
a wedding. the organ before us
felt cold. almost a statue.
we did this for Descartes
& his pondering. pages & pages
of heart-thinking. i held
the organ steady while my partner
made the cuts. are humans
the only animals who inspect
like this? with careful precision
&, at the same time, with complete
uncertainty. i can tell you very little
about a pig heart other than
the heft & the bright color.
elsewhere, the pigs
take their curiosities to the ground.
pig study noise & tuck each thought
under tongue. pigs are great
at keep secrets even after death.
i was terrified of the heart.
the world felt red & cold.
i wanted to be full of preservatives.
i wanted never to be pried open
like this. in my dorm room that night
i washed my hands in hot water
until they turned red.
let the lamp light pull my shadow
long against the ragged carpet.
out the window i glimpsed
only briefly, the ghosts of
all the pigs running laughing
on the college green.
i closed the blinds & considered
how all surgeons clothes
are that frothy green just like
the sheet they gave us for the heart.
in the morning the pigs were gone.
i saw their hoof prints & they saw
my hungers.

umbrella

we drank rain from sidewalks.
tongue to concrete. deadly thristy

from walking to mercury & back
in attempts to prove love.

that whole summer was about
confirmations. is the sun really

a pinwheel? is the window really a window?
are you my lover? is this water

laced with sugar? 
is the umbrella real?

i taught you how to blink
& you taught me 

where the weather came from.
you said your father was a cloud purchaser:

he carried pennies & fed them
to the dirt to barter for storms.

meanwhile, in the past, at the umbrella farm, 
the children went to see them sprout

kneeled in the mud & noticed
tiny umbrellas as they peeked

through. some with wooden handles--
some cheap & plastic. april was such

a ratification. the umbrella we bought
needed more time in the soil.

turned inside out at the slightest noise.
we took turns. me saying, "here you 

hold it" & you saying "no you."
the rain holding still in your hair

like jewels. the rain soaking through
my shoulders. a shiver entering

at the base of my spine. wanting 
to want to hold your hand again.

yearning for a dry morning where the grass
was all dead fingers. you should have

called your father & told him
to plead for snow. beg on his knees

for a summer blizzard to hem us together.
rain is known for causing gospel.

not even the weather knows 
what to do with blood. inside the apartment,

the umbrella wilted outside the door.
died & you blinked too many times

& i peered out the window all night.
at the umbrella farm, the newest crop

was too large to be sold. monsterous umbrellas
shadowing everything for miles around. 

glass infection

it began with a the basement stairs,
once wooden little tomb stones 
now turned glass. one step at a time.
foot on slick surface.
i peered right through
to the dusty floor where 
neon mice trade raisins & broken
christmas ornaments slowly disintegrate.
i told no one. often we think 
an impending tradgey is best kept
as contained as possible. i dreamed
of the coming glass as i watched
my mother knit gloves on the couch.
of course we have regular windows
which i pressed my hand to. 
winter has been coming for several years.
next, glass in the bathroom. glass tub.
glass floor looking down into 
the living room. all my family
staring up at me & my bare feet.
we blamed each other. dad raged.
he said the kids had brought the glass
from all their Google-searching.
my brother blamed me even though
he wouldn't speak it aloud. the family queer
is always a cite of illumination:
an eye piece towards if & how
each person wants to see another.
i was easy to blame because my bedroom
happened next. sometimes, they watched
me sleep. my little glass cage.
head lights from the street blaring
through the glass. walls rounded.
i lived spherically. my friends told me
to just leave but i believed
i could show the walls how to harden again.
a secret is just another kind
of glass. after that it spread quicker:
hallway then kitchen then parent's bedroom
then the outside. everyone could see
through us to the other side. 
birds smack into the siding & pieces
shattered like wine glasses.
watched my mother press her face
to her bedroom wall. watched my brother
sprawl out on the floor like a star.
i went down to the basement
to try my own remedies: poems 
& stories & a camera flash. nothing.
amplified feet. a warped flute.
it was me all along though. we are usually
several contagions at any given time. 
i left & the walls inhaled. i stood 
in the driveway & looked 
at the structutre's solidness. 
i crave the glass. it lives 
in one of my fingernails. 
a littled latent
cathedral wall. when i visit
we gather in the yard like birds. 
pretend the house isn't there.