Bipinnate Plants & Other Bracken
Welcome to our bifid world, split like a snake’s tongue. One half’s a garden ungrowing, locked-up, but we live this side of the wall. We still have to work in the dirt. You’ll wear grit in your knees soon enough, no matter how much you scrub. You’ll carry it under your nails, a dead man’s manicure. Here you’re welcome to taste what you want—any apple or frond— but that doesn’t mean what you eat won’t devour you in turn. Learn to tell quick poison from slow. We don’t yet know where the haunted house stops & the gallery begins. The history museum. The hunting preserve. We race each day to its end, but the day always wins. Welcome to today’s race. Finish is all you can do: pick a sin to believe in & stick to, get by on: gluttony, lust, something to distract your mouth from the one food it can’t have, can’t tooth, the one truth it can’t swallow.