Orchids Are Sprouting From the Floorboards
By Kaveh Akbar
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.
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My Wednesday was uneventful apart from chatting at lunch with two of my high school friends, which as always was a highlight of my week! Plus we had summer-like weather, which made it a perfect day to be outside, though we really didn't get to see how the repaired furnace works for any length of time. It was also a good day for bunnies -- we saw two on our cul-de-sac.
The World Series is barely holding me attention -- I don't dislike either team, which makes it harder to root for or against anyone, and I miss the Rays' home stadium with the ray tank. We only watched one episode of Schitt's Creek (the crow premiere disaster) and snorted at the Giuliani fact finding mission in his pants story. Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden's orchids:
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