i will bloom where i am planted

a poem from the archives

I will bloom where I am planted when 
I am buried among pineapples,

where the miasmic heat of the tropics meets the mountain meadows, and
the pineapple stems blend in with the pinecones,
carpeting the forest floor.

There -

I will birth a blossom so brilliant
people will travel from miles around
to see the unbelievable flower, 
standing tall and proud
reaching, towards the sun.

The pineapples have been planted.
the mountains sit, silent, patiently waiting.

And I?

I begin to hum a deep resonant melody 
beneath the sun-warmed damp soil
and move towards the light.

---

good things on the internet

• Chappell Roan’s tiny desk concert ❤️

• This Biggie + Thomas the Tank Engine mash-up 🚂

• Daniel Radcliffe performing his showstopper from Merrily We Roll Along (seeing this live was a peak experience) 🎶

• Tui Tui of the Joyous Lake 🌟

currently reading

• This Time Tomorrow by Emma Straub: “Happy endings were too much for some people, false and cheap, but hope - hope was honest. Hope was good.” 

• Dark Matter by Meg Bernhard: A long-form history of Post Secret & it’s creator Frank Warren

• The Responsibility of Witnesses to Genocide by Jennifer Lynn Kelly: “But then I remember the work of the witness, and the work of solidarity, and how such work requires nourishment. It requires us to allow ourselves to feel helpless until we renew our resolve, until we recommit, over and over again, to reading, enumerating, acting.”

• The Museum Was Built So No One Would Forget . . .by William Albert Pagdatoon: “us, pottery fragments once //  dusted in warm sand—jagged,  // mismatched—today, preserved  // in glass.

this week’s jam

I’m a sucker for a club whistle.

photo of my cats

Image description: Muir (left) and Kerouac perch on a chair in front of a bookshelf. Kerouac is blurred and his tongue is out.