Ode to Callisia Graminea
Laden with white flowers, three
Petals smell of unfinished honey,
But no bees bumble after the rain.
No need to worry about sunlight,
Sunlight will drip from the pines,
Dewdrops on your waxen leaves.
No need to worry about water,
Rain will drip from the branches,
Pool at your shallow roots--
Why are wildflowers always weeds?
Whether life is worth living,
You live anywhere and everywhere,
And sometimes, somewhere you’re
Not wanted, like mother’s garden.
She sent me here to pluck you--
Hoarfrost roots exposed to air,
Topsoil finds the tongue, a habit
Like flowers with the first thaw.
Grassleaf roseling, always lacking:
Too much leaf for grass,
Yet neither the petals nor the thorns
Spiderwort, always lonely:
Silk clings to your leaves and petals,
But no spiders sing after the rain.
Were you as lonely as I am?
There is something to be said
For dying after being touched
For the first time. You will remember
This touch for the rest of your life,
Never knowing solitude or silence.
Waxy leaves and silken stems
Leave not a single hive on pale skin,
Too kind to show resentment.
The plastic wheelbarrow envies
The violet-tinted petal tips,
It will never be this blue,
And the rusted wheels envy
The black kiss of soil stained roots,
It will never be this close to the earth.
I will bear your corpse into the woods,
Where you always belonged--
At the roots of the water oak in spring.
When you rot,
I hope you reincarnate as an acorn.
I hope you remember me.