tomboy cucumbers

(for dad)


i was 9 like mary quite contrary

(who grew cockle shells)

when you offered me

a piece of my own eorthe

to grow pleased me

you dug forbidden canticles to the goddess

of fecundity and death – a preacher’s

heiros gamos of dirt

i chose cucumbers

complete unto themselves

like tomboy’s and virgin’s

dripping independence

down my chin

 in that patch we were heretics

  ignoring the flaming swords

guarding that tree

trespassing upon immortality