"Greenhouse" was first published in Quarto's Spring 2017 edition.
All afternoon it smelled like a greenhouse.
Blackness underfoot, the flapping of geese,
The earthworms white and starving at our ankles.
I climbed in the rocking chair
Searching for an opening to push into:
A greeting, a rustle above the rocks.
Once the porch lifted up to the wind
And you undid my hair
With fingers that gathered like mice.