by allison linville
Bristle tea and rosehip teacups.
Visions include walking among stalks of vegetables.
Stalks that grow down, stalks that grow up.
Growing lemonade, are you?
Today, thimbleberries widen
in the cracks of tables,
the cracks of watered down wood.
Eating gardens of gardens of gardens and your mother never called you back.
Set your latest whipping almonds aside
for future garnishes;
you have so many beads
You never want
your celeries to be lavish or cold.
Running on apricots.
Would you ever have thought our letters
would spontaneously grow themselves?
Hurry over now, you say,
you don’t want to be reading to yourself.
Someday, you will have a child of thorns, you hear.