"epiphytic" poems
His hands are long,
calloused and inviting.
Scars tell stories,
scattered
across his knuckles.
He has one hand cradled in the other,
tapping and rubbing
his palm
with his fingers.
His mind is a jungle:
heavy, sticky, lush,
challenging to navigate,
surrounded by undecayed green
and unobstructed sea.
“Are you anxious?”
His hands are moving rapidly,
yellow parrotbills
flitting in and out of the tall tree trunks
and violet, epiphytic orchids of his mind.
Turning to face me,
he stretches his lips into a smile.
He assures me that he is fine,
but he doesn’t see any birds.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
An epiphyte mutually minding
Itself, came to a situation most binding!
To live and be wasted,
Or die and be tasted –
Both unsatisfactory it was finding!
“Please, use me for rest,
Not a taste test,”
Cried the little Mossy,
“My aren’t you bossy,”
Came a cry from Bird’s nest.
And so up the Orchid grew
In order to eschew –
But to no avail!
For it can’t prevail
When up hungry Bird flew!
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC