Peach Delphine :: “macrorrhizos”

giant borneo is how it’s sold,
through the mail in a four inch pot,
before the last hurricane ours,
some three years old,
was twelve feet tall,
green sails of shade, 
slowly coming back, 
each new set of leaves larger than last,
stems nearly a yard, for such as us, 
our only reliable companions, old dog,
vandas, dendrobium, cattleyas, taro, 
for such as us, without anything else,
understanding the wealth of shade, verdure, 
the wild taro
pseudo stem thicker than my thigh, 
swelling in february warmth 
crinkled leaves liquid thick, 
relentless water weight,
hydraulics silently unfolding
jade array, wrap me in a bed
of those leaves,
let me sleep
beneath wild taro, 
let me grow 
into sunlight,
tongue of a different song,
each new pup 
an offering 
of voice


Peach Delphine is a queer poet from Tampa, Florida. Former cook, gardener quite fond of taro, bananas, and moonflowers. Has had work in Moist, Feral, Cypress, Dust, UCITY Press, petrichor.