For days, the sunflowers watch me
For days, I am charged with an awareness
that they were clipped
from their roots & delivered
to my door in blue plastic
like a body in a body bag.
Their thick stems, the heaviness
of their heads, is obscene—
I drop them in a vase.
How to comprehend
that each head carries an ovary?
Years ago, at the farmer’s market,
a vendor who took a shine to my husband
put her hand on my stomach,
looked at him & asked,
How much longer?
What comes first in this telling—
the mind, or the body?
See now how each brown eye
begins to close on the iris.
My hand touches my throat.
Day after day, I watch
the seeds become dust.
The necks fall first.
THEODORA ZIOLKOWSKI is the author of the novella On the Rocks, winner of a 2018 Next Generation Indie Book Award, and the short story chapbook Mother Tongues. Read more.