Aftermath

An old work boot
in a field of bay leaves-
they swelled up around it after a winter,
bitter, abandoned, alone.
They pierced the skin.
When it bit at them, they cut
the tongue, grew up
through the eyes
until it was blind.

Nearby my bare feet
had thorns between bare toes,
reaching in under nails and sneaking around bones.
Burrs tugged on my lungs, I think
I was still alive, flowerless tangles of rose
in my hair that had grown long.

Ice crystalized in a steady wave
across my skin, then fingers plunged
deep into the tissue.

A rabbit burrowed behind my ribs
for the heat in my heart.

When the seasons turned, a child
kicked the anthill
where my brain used to be.