Palm - April 9th

Palm

I want to plant my palms into every groove
on you. My scratchy, cracked palms.
I envy palm trees, beautifully
tall, permanent fireworks, that every part
is harmful. The bark sharp, the fronds pointy.
Like the earth's thorns.
Are these palm trees the same
from black & white films? The ones you snap
photos of? The beach I never took you to
is full of palms. Given the opportunity, I would
fan you with their leaves, let you drink
their milk from my cupped hands.

There's that one palm tree though,
outside my window, full of bees.
Always worried over allergies. Unfair
that something you love can make you swell
breathlessly. Give me your palms,
let me guide them to a nursery
full of only palm trees. Let me run
my free hand across the scratchily cracking
trunks. Let me climb their limb
with my own calloused palms. Unfair
that something you love can't be as tender as you
want.

— — —

Planted

Bent over, some sort of sickness
has stricken the palm
tree in my front yard.
A sawdust color. The beehive
once tucked safely in
my palm is honeyless.
Other trees can grow, but I can't
pull out all the roots.
That palm will always hold
tightly and deeply my soil.

— — —

Palm Sunday

A coincidence that you read
random pages from Chapel
of Inadvertent Joy today,
Palm Sunday, & choose the word
"palm" blindly for poetry
exercises. Not a coincidence

that your father writes to you
about the lack of God in your life.
"You have a God-sized hole" he says.
You chuckle.
Is it coincidence this is the first time
he has ever told you he loves you?
Your mom says it's a big deal
for him. This is why you left
god-sized holes, or they left you: You can't escape
that your father and you have the same dry palms.
But you know they wave for different saviors. The one
that made your palms & the one that made your palms feel
beautiful in theirs.

— —  —

Random line, saved for later

I've read about dry drowning and wonder
what the difference is between dying like that
and walking on water.