| the sap that I am springtime
makes me want to reread Virgil's Georgics while eating cacio
e pepe with fresh-shelled peas this morning over coffee I
watched a video of spinach leaves washed of their cellular
information and bathed in stem cells until they became miniature
hearts vascular hopes capable of want to roll down a hill
of clover to cold-spoon chrysanthemum gelato or to stop whenever
their phones autocorrect gps to god the sublime is a suspension
of disbelief the earth has gotten sentimental this late in the game
with its smells of gasoline rosemary and woodsmoke the Rorschach
of vitiligo on my eyes mouth and throat the ongoing
argument between self and selfhood the recognition
of the storm the howling wind I wish I could scream
into someone else's rain   Copyright © 2017 Emilia Phillips. Used with permission of the author. | 
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