My Father Becomes Their Wedding Bouquet

I walk into my mother’s room
I open up the urn and pour the ashes into the flowerpot
An orchid grows a petal then grows a limb that becomes a leg
The stem vibrates into a hum
I water it till the hum becomes a song
Until the pollen becomes his face
Until the pot cracks and out comes a suede slipper
And out comes a wool sweater
I pick my mother from her empty bed and turn all her white hairs black
I make it 1989
I make it July 15th
I make it New Orleans
And now
here I am, sitting in the pew
“I do”

“I do”


We are one tremendous
field of undulating

waiting till it happens

The heart

The heart / splits open like / a frost flower—

Natural History

contrary to popular belief
—florists included—
tulips are not native to Holland, but to Anatolia instead.