Pipsissewa
                and I
      met today.
It started with a story
told by T:
      how she and him met;
and then I looked down
and there she was,
         in all her glory.

*Perennial evergreen,
              I am glad to know you.

There are small galaxies in salt grains
And sandbags in superclusters.
An arm extends from the minor and one punches from the major.
In a light state of being both little and big,
one hand tells me I'm major
Another tells others they're minor.
Both hands nontheless hit hard.
One much like a thron bush
The other like a lotus flower.
Neither major, both minor.

to think, i thought that i was finally happy; that maybe i was getting better at dealing with the world around me.
turns out, it was all a lie, a façade that instantly fell away the moment you returned.
my life flipped upside down, melted to mush, and faded away as i entered your arms.
the song i was supposed to know, wasn't there.
the halls, the walls, the streets i should have been familiar with, felt like strangers.
the plants and creatures i could have welcomed, seemed to me to be a disguise for the monster inside.
this home never felt like home to me.

Welcome to the Garden of Voice

Where the flowers shout poetry

And the trees deliver prose

Where your ideas can flourish and grow.

The plants don’t judge

And the grass doesn’t gossip

Here you can write until the pen runs out.

-JE

In me I carry burden, regret,
and guilt from memories that
were planted in my mind a long
time ago and now seem hard to
forget.
They've grown roots which
attach to my nerves. Each move
I make I remind myself of what
I've done. Like a constant itch.
With passing days, and no
resolution to this madness the
roots begin to latch on tighter.
The plant grows stronger this
way.  
Eventually, sanity will slip
completely leaving only the
plant to control what's left
of my vacant human shell.

Moss, and evergreens.
Pale azaleas and vines that grow tall with the warmth of spring.
I hope morning glories sprout their soft wings with the rise of the sun, light filtering through branches of leaves that hang so delicately above.
I hope for milk thistle,
Venus fly traps and nettles.
Sprouts pushing from the earth with a grace that’s invisible to the human eye.
Even with the greatest patience.

My leaf is still okay
Like our friendship will be someday

Green and vibrant
Who said I was violent?

No one, but a daisy
Delicate and lazy

The world is mad, how we live like this
What makes us need to hurt instead of kiss?

Down the line,
The world is divine

Worthless but great
Forever, ending in fate

twilight rain spatters
morse code of vitality
parched plant's s.o.s.

my mother was born a gardener

and my father became one

through patient snap peas and

angry red tomatoes

he seeded and watered and waited

while my mother grew hibiscus in the mountains

and plums in the shade

i was born a painter

but its tank me years to pick up a paintbrush

and my brother was born a poet

but i sincerely doubt that he’ll ever show it

i mix my paints on my palette of flowers

and my brother goes to meetings at banks

My other attended the only Agricultural High School available to her within a 40 mile radius of her South Philadelphia home. This was not a coincidence.

My father attended the best athletic conference in his affluent suburban community. This was.

She started out watering plants in fast food joints, arranging flowers for junior proms in the poorest neighborhoods of the city. When my father met her, she only ate lettuce and seeds because that was all she could manage to put in her body.

My father kneeled to the ground, saw the soil beneath her fingernails, and fell in love.

I can only love men who garden. I can only be a daughter of the earth because of them.

I don’t like terrariums because they frustrate me. Life trapped behind glass, that I cannot touch, or feel, or smell. I cannot water, I cannot fathom to even slightly disturb their existence, no matter how desperately I want to.

I’m getting my hands ***** touching old soil. I wipe it on my skirt before I touch the sweat on the back of my neck. I’m planting forget-me-nots and basil. I don’t even know if those go together. But I am putting them deep in the ground and it occurs to me that in a few weeks, I might not even remember them. They might die and become some stupid memory, a part of my dinner party story vernacular, Or maybe waiting for them will change me, will allow me to commit as a meditation on earthen peace.

I can't be bothered anymore
I cannot stand in the sand
and think sinking is all that
I've planned for
No more doors or floors
or man made rules
to call you tools is unruly
cause tools do more than
your mind and body
could ever be good for
i'd rather fear storms more
and ignore these ****** wars
that all of you stand for
I'd rather climb trees
and believe that grass
and bees do more
for me
than any human being
ever did with their
forearms
I am not ungrateful
but I feel more truth
in a pile of dirt
and less hurt by hornets
than humans
stores
or awkward moments
have a bear take my life
rather than disease
you take so much of everyone's life
when you cut down these trees
please believe me
i'm speaking for the leaves
and if you have lungs too
you should see what I mean