How delicate the little English porcelain flowers hanging like
              suicide teacups from the thick and throbbing vines
                            How sweet the childhood fetish for collecting dirt from                        every far-flung
              only to realize
                           the dirt just dirt
                                         the childhood just sad
                                                       the fetish just precedent
                           Which is more fragile
                                        the lichen rash on the side of the old English churches
                                                      or the skein of my holditalltogether
               I am thinking about how my sister pulls blood out of people
                            and talks shit with the other nurses at the hospital
How our mother hates some of her friends but abides them
               in the name of earthly value
               And my other sister born of a different tradition
                                          the dirt in her yard, the dripping hose
We
               the heiresses of invasive weed
We the teacups out to crack
                             Shoved to the bottom of different mulch bags
                                          lest we roast alongside each other
                                                        but choking     as it were
                                                                      on the same fumes

Jimmy Fay is a writer and performer based in Brooklyn, NY. You can follow them @liljimmyfay