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:
- Forfeiting My Mystique
- Pilgrim Bell
- Ways to Harm a Thing
- My Kingdom for a Murmur of Fanfare
- Exciting The Canvas
- Morning Prayer with Rat King
- Despite My Efforts Even My Prayers Have Turned into Threats
- What Seems Like Joy
- A Boy Steps Into the Water
- Against Vanity
- The Perfect Poem
- Waiting for the Twelfth
- River of Milk
- I Wouldn’t Even Know What to Do with a Third Chance
- Tower of Babel
- Being in This World Makes Me Feel Like a Time Traveler
- What Use Is Knowing Anything If No One Is Around
- Reza’s Restaurant, Chicago, 1997
- No Is a Complete Sentence
- Against Dying
- The New World
- Portrait of the Alcoholic Floating in Space with Severed Umbilicus
- Look, the Human Is Shrinking