Not all plants are vegetarian.
There’s this one that sits across the garden
separate from all of the other bushes,
with sharp teeth and long octopus-like tentacles,
that always feels like it’s going to grab me when I walk past.
Maybe this is why I am drawn to stop
and touch its smooth, thick shark-like skin.
It’s my odd way of feeling close to danger,
though only imagined,
like the first time I touched the back of a snake.
I knew it wouldn’t hurt me,
but there was this fear,
this intrinsic knowledge of the wildness,
the unpredictability of the reptilian brain.
In fact I wonder if this giant possible people-eating plant
is really a reptile trans-species,
having the body of a photosynthesizer,
but having the mind and memory of a Tyranosaurus Rex.
At this the green teeth smile slyly at me.
And as I run a finger across their razor’s edge
I think about the last time I got drunk on Tequilla
and how I threw all of my clothes out the window of a cab
and bought beer in a 7/11 naked.
I know it may sound funny, but for a moment
I like the idea of living in a world where plants kill people
as much as we kill them,
where all of us- plants, animals and humans-are fair game.
There is an awakeness that comes
from living so close to death
that we have forgotten-
a respect that comes from not knowing
the name or nature of a thing
until we have had our own conversation with it-
a hope that comes when we bow to the beings of this Earth
rather than some God who is up in the sky-
a humbleness that comes
when we give thanks for all that we eat,
knowing one day we, too, will be eaten.

You don’t need your orange hat to be beautiful.
You’re already like a green sand dollar,
a sign of abundance
with the Christ star in the middle.
Your eye is of white lightning
from which ecstatic streaks
extend out to your edges
spilling into finely etched mosaic triangles.
Intentionally, imperfectly round
like you’ve been spun
from a loving artist’s pottery wheel,
you’d make an ideal fairy plate.
Gentle, quivering world on a stem,
you are an antennae for the Earth,
compassionate enough to hold the shadows
of clovers, blades of grass
and traveling flies.
To think you’ve been living here in my back yard
and I’ve hardly noticed you
other than something that grows between
the vegetables in my garden.
When I touch your face it’s like touching
the softest skin behind my knees.
Forgive me for ever putting you in my salad
before praising the keeper
of lost innocence you are.

for the Oak trees in Rocky Nook Park…

While I’ve been sleeping
the Oak trees have been dancing.
They’ve been playing the Dance/Freeze game all morning
and one of them must have called out “Freeze” just before I arrived
and they are holding their statuesque positions,
playing the game so masterfully,
it’s like they’ve been standing that way forever.
I can feel their ready to burst laughter as I write this.
Unable to control themselves
a few of the younger ones start to shake.
They think I don’t notice until several leaves fall to the ground,
one of them landing right in front of my foot.
I feel the whole grove holding its breath,
all of the trees eyeing each other back and forth,
whispering “She knows. She knows.”
And yet none of them will break the rules, for as everybody knows, if one moves during “Freeze” they’re out.
It’s hard to sit still among such unrequited ecstasy.
Two trees looking like they’ve been swaying together for a long time
arch into each other’s trunks, almost kissing.
Then there is the one who has been pleasuring herself,
who is bending over with branches outstretched, calling to her Beloved.
Another two are fencing with eight swords each.
Another five are entangled in a great tickle pile.
And then there is the one who is like a dark lightning rod
rising up from the Earth, penetrating a ring of swooning waifs.
Another leaf falls to the ground
and my focus is unwavering as the stillness of the Oaks.
I wonder if they would ever let a human play with them
and if they would let me be the Caller
and what would happen if I called out “Dance!”
As if hearing my thoughts a gentle wind
blows through the wooded sanctuary,
causing the hairs on my arms to stand up.
And the Oaks nod back and forth amongst each other, saying,
“She knows. She knows.”