i am full of children i do not want

If every girl/daughter is a seed, what will that seed become? What plume, bloom, or vegetation?

muck-in-my-gut // ghost-white and beloved // give me a disregard for neighbors and sirens

Maybe it’s true, that “the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.” That the seed of her being is a blue-bell blueprint, genesis of genes, traumatic histories and memories mapping destinies predestined, societal soldering of gender-norms, which she inherits.

seedling

sapling and gingerbread thief

behold the ickyness of my orifice, my anatomy

 

But, maybe it’s also true that poetry is a magic that wills the seed to roll beyond the fields, weeds and trees of its seedling, never quite escaping the leave-roof awning of her childhood homes and her beholdens’ reach, but entering new woods, forests and fields, finding and unearthing other wonders and ways of being, of seeing and being seen, seed diving down into untilled ground and growing out in awkward and awe-filled directions, personage of poems and plumes. Daughter-Seed is that magic.

doubt

i have decoded your hex, your fetish sub rosa

i have learned your language and it is mine

 

buy Daughter-Seed by Arielle Tipa and published by Empty Set Press HERE

 

ariellet

 

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