I gathered the healthy parts of him
from where they grew at the mountain�s foot,
reassembled his fractured body
in such a way that I would want
to touch it again.

I snapped nearby flower heads and suckled
the milky stems until his blood came
up from the soil that stole it.

I distinguished the plant from the boy
by the warmth, if not the green color
and straddled him - a plant, an animal,
tense with blood and water.

I sucked his pelvis of life
with muscles that have birthed infants
and drew the winged Maple seeds
of this valley into my womb,
tree-grown butterflies confused by skin.

On split knees I dirtied the kiss of my cervix
with soil and let the tubes curl out their roots,
ovaries burrowing among flower bulbs

that must be planted in the cool
of autumn and play dead for months
before awakening to blossom.



� 2004 by Jalina Mhyana
* First published in Erosha, winter 2003-04