& so the turtle shifted. or, the pomegranate cracked open, heaven sighed, or, the hot core of the earth and the temper of the air balanced. or, the tidal flood shook loose in a young girl’s cotton candy center, melted, congealed, and the irreversible began. goosebumps rippled over her arms and chest and sprouted early grass, perfumed shrubs, the delicate woody orchid stems. & the light reflecting from her eyes pierced, through the jelly substance, straight into the mirrors lining her skull. it bounced around like gymnasium dodgeballs, split and multiplied, and shot back out: highbeams on, twin suns in the cradles of twin sockets. & o god all that water; shimmer of sweat, thick iron ore, unused minerals recycling, all salted or soured. her mouth cracked open with the blooms of those orchids. hundreds of them, soon splitting along fault lines in her tiny throat. we bloom at any cost. her skin moved tectonically- filling those pulled apart spaces, making way for a mountain to pile up on itself, for the thick tongue-coating joy of fat to find bastions of comfort in her. & the churning begins. now tiny creatures drive cars and fuck and fight and drill for dinosaur sludge, mining mountains for fireplaces, looking for woody stems to burn, and the skin keeps splitting, and the crust pulls apart at strange angles, and baobabs know a thirsty time is coming, and I want to tell the girl: the skin will crack. the fat and the light are holy. tend to the orchids. you may become a garden. tend to the soil. feed the dirt with carcasses and coffee. I wonder, too, if we will ever see the ends of our own earths. I wonder if we will taste the fruit we bear.
21 Poems in 21 Days, February 2016 // Day 2