MONARDA CITRIODARA

It seems almost too simple really:
Prying open the grey strawcloth crown
(The full, softrumpled lips)
Spilling out
Slippery, black ova into the small of your palm

Pressing them into springy, brown humus
Tamping the soil down to make
A secure bed

A nurturing place where steady rain & warmth
Embolden the tight cells to multiply and burst forth
into genetic code made manifest
Destiny fulfilled
Tender heads awakening
Crowded, green, eager

Soon I will free you from this plastic pot
And let you run feral
To bloom perfectly unassuming flowers
I--the imperfect instrument of your fruition

Oh how the beautifully innocent chlorophyll limbs
Strive toward the light
The translucent julep of their eyes
Pouring into mine
 
 

2/16/2002
Ingrid Karklins