Homology
This afternoon I dreamt all the leaves fell
off my plant and I gathered up the leftover
body into a tight bunch, pulled up the roots
to repot. I tried to place them in water, but the water wouldn’t
–
stop pouring like I’d struck a spring, so I kept
the green bright in my fists as each new
wave washed something else
away. The veins on the leaves matched
the lines of my palms. I spend
most of my time looking
at the wrong things, was caught
this morning tipping, my eyes stuck
on the spot of a small airplane. I wonder if it feels
–
strange being seen so entirely and barely. I would be embarrassed taking
away even a drop of the blue. I forgot to watch where
I was going. Did you know your nails are made
of the same material as pangolin scales? Do you think if we could
tell them they would be glad to know it, too? Last night
I kissed a girl in a tree and I didn’t feel
–
strange about being seen. I didn’t feel bad for blocking a bit
of the navy blue. The breath lost its way in my throat. Someday I will know
how to be less apparent. Someday I will find a whale and whisper
about how our skeletons follow the same patterns.
