Endometriosis Ode

how did this elm
end up in my lakeing

body, or am I
meant to be a grass

land, should I have grown
out not up, blade

not trunk, mown not
hedged–or, why are roots

hissing my famine–
fled feet like, who’s this

willow writhing
my Anatevka

hair–or when did fir
start to feeler my bready

basket, did I just hear
a woodpecker

furrowing
my kidneys, or what

heights did I drop from
all this wooly seed, I have

reached up my open
trunk, haven’t found

nut, I grow
my own gauze, bruise

my owned bramble, how
to seek my selves

shade, wake up
maggoty

with ectopic tubers
draw myself

open
corpse

flower, I am
drawn, eat

my rot
nectar, woody

hearse–if I halved
my ribcage would

there be rings