It is March, and your grass has just returned.
You are green, but nothing like your lush August self—
full of daisies, periwinkle, Black-eyed Susans, Queen Anne’s lace,
swallowing dogs and deer who wander through.
In your glory, you also swallow my love as he paces out the back door.
He, who has given me instructions for how to return him to earth.
Today, he guides a reporter through the link between plastic feedstocks
and the fossil fuel economy, as his hands brush your tassels
of grass, as bees swarm his still-alive body.
Maybe it’s cruel I told him I won’t respect his wishes:
won’t take his body to a swamp and offer it to alligators.
Instead, maybe I will leave him to you and never mow you down—
fill my ears with swarms of bees and chirping frogs,
as we both disappear in your overgrowth.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 28, Issue 1.
Patricia Davis-Muffett (she/her) holds an MFA from the University of Minnesota. Her chapbook, Alchemy of Yeast and Tears, was published in 2023. Her work has won honors, including the 2024 Erskine J. Poetry Prize from Smartish Pace, Best of the Net, and Pushcart Nominations. Her poetry appears in Best American Poetry, Best New Poets, and other publications.
See all items about Patricia Davis-Muffett
