Melissa Severin

If I knew my mother,
or her mother, I might know
why crocus bloom from my carotid
and Coroebus dropped the tripod.
Temple of corm; sprout and bulb.

Vengeance still alive in morning
glories that crown coronary arteries. Lariats
lassoed around the ribs, blossoms
the tone of bone. Caving in,
the pelvic arc, stretched flesh is flat
ground for growing.

Rosemary garlands ankles
to wrists. Asters under finger-
tips. Memories punish the tongue
lavender. That once-taste and fragrance,
the rue of the body in reminiscence,
decadent, disastrous, that beauty in the mind.