fiddlehead

i slept among the ferns that night
my head growing heavy with
their sad healing wisdom.
there was a fat fly who followed me
all day making fat noises in the sun.
that morning i had eaten a small
handful of blueberries --- wild ones
from the side of the road,
growing out through the wooden
fence slats. my hair once got tangled
in a thorn bush and it took no small
amount of pain to free myself.
i thought of the fly and i wished
it would fall, wished it would be still.
i slept among the ferns that night.
the grass crept under my naked ankles.
i tried not to think of hobgoblins
and gleaming and dark dark wings.
i dug my fingers into the roots
and slept there. i was born in a hospital
not so long ago, grew up in rooms and cold streets
fell in love lying on concrete with a bloody mouth
woke up every day looking at the wall,
the wall, the cracks and dimples in my boneless wall,
and it took no small amount of pain
to free myself.