Daphne

Samantha Harden

          I will become a monk of flowers

so
          shave

          my head, give me a square

          sheet of landscape
          fabric

for my green jaded robe,

          bury

          the
          blonde
          under damp soil far from my temple,

and    plant      bulbs     in                 my            skull,

in tight rows.
Grow moss on my collarbones,

                                 to collect water,

and let clovers grow between my toes,

 

 

but the hands? God, my hands,

              let them become a ring of marrow soaked

              flowers, petals crawling from under
              my nails

 

 

                             Let the ribs be a highway for roots

entwining inside, to create veins—

                                                    an escape
                                                    — spilling out of me
                                                    to cleave the asphalt underneath

And let the thighs spread for stinging nettles.

               Let me split into a thatch

               of poison ivy,

so you and your friends can

never desecrate
me again