Dwarfed With Winged Arms Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(talking to a cactus)

(i)

I've known you, lass,
rooted deep
with your grip
of earth's roots,

as you stand, flying
out of yourself.

Short in stature,
you kneel
and crawl without
sliding off

the deep spot
that stands you
plump and thick-muscled.

Gazed with green
pomade no sun can melt
off to the ground,

as your limbs balloon
out to billow into cream
and silver air.

Tentacled
with fleshy arms
carrying
thorny pimples

only splitting
to oil
and balm you green
in your thick coat
pushing out sun,

as you breathe in
from leaves
and grasses the green hue
flapped on and off
a green parrot sipping you.

And with as many
limbs sticking
out to fly
with feathers of air,

you grow green fur
to groan with you
through a tempest.

(ii)

In your planted
stiff gait O lass,
no puffs,
no hurled gales

cruising with spears
have wounded her,
as she only swells
into the green gloss
of her thorny skin.

Under the burning
flames of sun
stretching down

with a humming glow
ricocheted
from a bleeding sky
dripping
into the breeze.

I've floated
my retina
like a drawn-out
catapult

flying with a missile
of sight to land
on your nipple,

as you squeeze
out nectar
from your reddish
prickly pear

growing gold
under the spiraling sun.

(iii)

I've known you
for stretched-out years,
her parents having
lived for centuries

until bearded with the ash
and cream hairs
and feathers of age.

A dwarf for your age
growing only in breadth,
but not in height.

you stand, lifting up
your arms to the gods.

(iv)

O Acanthis,
pull in all birds
to come
stroke you,

as you feed them
with nectar
great forefathers
have drunk.

Cactus, as you sting me
with a wasp,
and I wriggle out
of a deep hole of pain,

I only dance only
to the buzz of a beetle
rubbing itself
on me
with sinking brushes.

Tossing out
prickly pears
for cardinals

and gold finches
flying over
to prick me with love.

Dwarfed you're
the tallest lass,
as you lick dust and clay
to bounce
into the firmament.