Once, I slept lightly in my pine bed. Days
were dozy, in and out, in and out. Shudder
of leaf drop, something rabid, something
human within me holding something not.
What’s their god? The axe that cracked
me, my many spines? I don’t care for it.
I don’t care for creatures who believe
they can take my growth to build a home
away from me. Their children’s sticky
palms, candied greed. I prefer the witch,
the wolf, what wanders like doubt through
the bones. I prefer you, inferno. My cones
are fit to burst with seed. Think of all
we could raze and make together. Me
with my edible body. You with your whirl
of devils, your gracious mouth of flames.