Orchids are sprouting from the floorboards.
Orchids are gushing out from the faucets.
The cat mews orchids from his mouth.
His whiskers are also orchids.
The grass is sprouting orchids.
It is becoming mostly orchids.
The trees are filled with orchids.
The tire swing is twirling with orchids.
The sunlight on the wet cement is a white orchid.
The car’s tires leave a trail of orchids.
A bouquet of orchids lifts from its tailpipe.
Teenagers are texting each other pictures
of orchids on their phones, which are also orchids.
Old men in orchid penny loafers
furiously trade orchids.
Mothers fill bottles with warm orchids
to feed their infants, who are orchids themselves.
Their coos are a kind of orchid.
The clouds are all orchids.
They are raining orchids.
The walls are all orchids,
the teapot is an orchid,
the blank easel is an orchid,
and this cold is an orchid. Oh,
Lydia, we miss you terribly.
© Kaveh Akbar 🔒
Some other random works of this poet:
- Look, the Human Is Shrinking
- Tower of Babel
- Morning Prayer with Rat King
- What Seems Like Joy
- Despite My Efforts Even My Prayers Have Turned into Threats
- The Perfect Poem
- Exciting The Canvas
- Portrait of the Alcoholic Floating in Space with Severed Umbilicus
- What Use Is Knowing Anything If No One Is Around
- Pilgrim Bell
- River of Milk
- My Kingdom for a Murmur of Fanfare
- Forfeiting My Mystique
- Against Dying
- I Wouldn’t Even Know What to Do with a Third Chance
- Waiting for the Twelfth
- Ways to Harm a Thing
- Being in This World Makes Me Feel Like a Time Traveler
- Reza’s Restaurant, Chicago, 1997
- Against Vanity
- No Is a Complete Sentence
- A Boy Steps Into the Water
- The New World