Rhododendrons fit into my uterus,

they are whale size

so stretching and misshapen ovaries

push out like peninsulas.

They feel full,

they’re like knuckles

and I can’t wait for the smell of popcorn

to fill the house—

after this countdown,

tick-tock digital clock

of microwave oven and

the soft butter

 

over all.

 

 

I tried to be fitting as a rhododendron in

South East

like a whale eating popcorn.

Two favorite things.

I don’t know how full I can become.

My knuckles crack in the wind

so I leak.

In your softness, I find

protection for my aching uterus

And the sound of time.

It tick-tocks and tries to rhyme,

I follow the sound

to the lands end

dipping my feet off the peninsula—

as if it were actually mine.