| no one speaks of how tendrils feed on the fruits of my demise these dead hands for instance that alight phlox wild strawberry and pine this is my body out of context rotting in the wrong hemisphere I died so all my enemies would tremble at my murmur how it populates their homes so I could say to the nearest fellow dead person I know more than all my living foes I've derived sun-fed design for once from closing my oak eyes now they'll never snare the civilian pullulating my throat Copyright © 2019 Xandria Phillips. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 26, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets. |
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