all the landscapers i know like men—plant parts of themselves into the lawns of lovers unattempted. leave bits of body to fertilize fields of flowers: tongues to topsoil, backs bare-ground bared to seed, their bones spent tilling another man’s soil. devil’s trumpets sound through beefy bantam men who live to be under another man’s earthiness—they are daturas. i discover their blooms under the full moon, dangerous as it may be. i disturb their roots, toeing the line between foundation and found—between my safety and their acceptance. i hold flower petals in my mouth. nightshades: a silent tongue.

Cosima Smith is a creative exploring life through multiple media including writing, visual art, and body work. Striving to be in conversation with nature (including people and their creations), time, and the body, you can find Smith hiking, practicing or teaching yoga, or by locating the nearest body of water. Works from Smith can be found in Fahmidan Journal, Full House Literary, The Edge of Sex from Routledge, and across the web.