trout

Diary of a Botanist: 3

Don Mee Choi

I will tell you what the parrot said to me. I will tell you botanist, a botanist, the botanist. She lives in a forest. Eucalyptus leaves never rot. How sane. Her tongue, bagged in plastic, splits. Arrived insane, she scrubs kitchen counters, cutting boards, knives,

the edges of a dish rack. She scrubs the fridge daily. The door stays wet. I will tell you she urinates here, there as instructed. She follows me, for needles pierce. A, an, the. She prefers nothing. I will tell you how she repeats to herself in a forest. Which way? Which way? I will tell you how sane she stays insane in a forest. She never fucks. This is a pen. This is an apple. Hello. Goodbye. I have black eyes. I have black hair. She is botanist. She is a botanist. She is the botanist. She cannot laugh. She cannot leave.