Butterfly, as in wingspan, or spotlight, or the

top of a pickaxe; flutter, as in, to cut the

air out of your throat. O how I will slice the room

open with my shoulders, the mouths of everyone

aghast. Made out of pineapples to see me with,

to see me better, to find no weapons inside.

The fruit–that which is the shape of a white man’s head

pulled from the roots between his shoulders and held by

his hair like a bell–is originally from

Europe. This plant grows in the shadows, in plain sight.

Imagine that: a garden of resistance, a

city of solace for women to slay right through.