knotted
by Livia Meneghin
I.
standing alone surrounded
by bouquets after their use
weaving my fingers within
green and cutting stems
where the leaves emerge
xylem and phloem swelling
tissue trapped inside
you wore green in the day
you wore white at night
II.
i never told
you my secrets
nodes stuck in
my throat l-o-v-e stuck
in my throat
differentiated
cells prevent
words from
coming out
into the air
like the rice
thrown over
your veil
your hands
that held
mine once
now marked
by henna
and a diamond
that could cut
straight through
these half-blown roses
heavy with the weight
of their own blooming
though perhaps
too late
i await a hospital
bed while
you sleep
in another’s arms
without knowing
but i will say
when birds eat
dehydrated grain
it enters their orbits
only to grow
inside gizzards
tucked under
cages of calcium
hydrophilic unlike
the petal
in my hand
that refuses tears
until they explode
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