another side of paradise

one night you said to me: write a poem about
a plant growing up in a tiny city. my little pothos.

I have grown two centimeters since last summer.
My hair, three inches. I will cut it tomorrow out of spite,                                                                      in my winter rage, as if to say, Yes, I can change.

We stood like Adam and Eve in the shower, gray-tiled
& unwet, before the figs&apples&pommegranates. He                                                                        said to Eve, You’re beautiful. Eve said I’m not
wearing any makeup, grape juice streaming down her lids.

The tomatoes in my dad’s garden are waiting to be 

harvested. To be boiled. Cooked. Peeled. Juiced.

thank you for letting me                                                                    love you.