Plant Your Feet

Plant Your Feet

I’ve got the Seven Sisters in my eye, gleaming,
And a secret in every word, steaming, boiling, evaporating.
Now and then I water my roots and I drink, drink, drink,
Hydrated and in love.
When we stay here and waste thoughts on wilted ferns, I
become confused,
And dizzy, gyrated.
What isn’t wasted in this twisted world?
Misty rivers, grandfather trees and beds of saturated moss?
The minds we dive into, we come out dry and the same.
So, we can sit here, cry and crumble,
Or we can race time, race growth and death.
The power is in feeling,
Feeling for destruction and for dead bones and ghosts.
Whispering whispy windy winding words,
That swirl and are quiet and sweet,
But your body gestures give it all away.
Everything down to the last twinkle.
Anguish makes it hard to walk sometimes,
But then again, the silence makes it hard to hear.
Deranged, insane and delirious,
We fight to sympathize.

Bulb

Mother
was merciless, cut those apple-worms
straight down the middle, huge round
thumb always caught the knife, never
caught me running from her other daughters
that looked just like her, the
one was a round thumb the other
couldn’t stay out of the yard, feet
planted in the ground where the deaf, blind
dog is buried, ashes made the tree all
white and powdery. Father runs at the bubbling dirt
with a shovel, decapitates whatever’s moving,
prunes the branches down to their last knobbly
stump. Those flowers weren’t scared they
came back every year like I do, bulbs keep
warm in the winter ground. The dog
runs into everything, you watch her make blind
circles on the lawn and want to join her.
Start to understand why she digs.