Poems are dangerous things…
“the unbearable tearing, and I wake—
unable to scream with this lush, exploded tongue.”
Poems are dangerous things. I was reading Sandra Beasley’s poem “Orchis Speaks” from her collection I Was the Jukebox over coffee the other morning. Next thing you know, I was in Whole Foods picking up bread, fruit—and this mini-orchid. What shall I name her?