PEDUNCLES (Poem)
PEDUNCLES
By Farah Lawal Harris, 2024
Static fills my right hip, crrrrsppppp crrrrsppppp!
Begging for a kiss, a loosening.
Despite her shallow roots, my Hoya Hindu rope
has grown peduncles—
Think of them as arms reaching toward the sun,
as worshippers who bloom flowers
I hear smell like cinnamon!
Soon, I’ll wear a bun.
This time last year, I was bald as a baby’s bum.
This realm is fun.
I will grow old like my paternal grandmother
who transitioned at my master number.
Venerating my deep roots, my soul
has grown peduncles.