Grafting

I have removed my head.

It was always carving gravestones & raising monuments
to a childhood eaten by tarantula-threats, tattered by the moths of mania, eroded by anxious ant-pacing, a childhood
stung to death by hornet-words.

Now roses & apples sprout from my neck & spill onto a ripe ground where summer plays in sunbeams that ricochet from green blade to green blade, onto hills I’d never seen & a sky
that blue raspberries my lips.

A smooth sunrise spreads behind me, gravestones slip
into ground, black obelisks collapse, then crumble on the field where wind sweeps them away, away from me,
holding my head in my hands.

Maybe someday, someday when it has unlearned the orbweaver
art of fear-engineering, when it learns to sew new threads, to saunter, to heal from hive-wounds, when it dreams grandiflora dreams
& golden delicious dreams,

maybe then I’ll graft it back onto neck with loam for wax & tendril for twine.

~inspired by ffo art