Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole

I kept hot chili powder out for the squirrels
who ate my sunflower seeds
a quiet muttering before I rubber-banded the top of jade green pots
to stay immoveable.
I knifed in air holes of tv dinner trays
It felt like a fort.

And it poured heavy
giant jackfruits dropping down onto my Adélie deck
pelts of fury
And the sun scorched the Saran wrap in the morning
until it started perspiring- the moist of a thick greased upper lip
a romance in curling moustaches-
bootleg Dali

And the seeds
my marigold
sprouts
They choked in the heat.
Thick shoots withered into the soil leaving nothing behind
a caterpillar making them into meals
slashed
because you deemed it impossible
me

Now I’m without marigolds
the squirrels’ dug into the uncovered pots
leaving gouges
tracking dirt all over my southeast
but
I had grabbed a handful of that soil before the marigolds
transplanted them into my bird of paradise
invisible wildflowers grew
They’re weeds
Yes.
there are 3.
to each their own
I was only ever good at sheltering them from the wild.