In the middle of the park,
I am a pink and smooth baby –

my mother manages to put santan
in my fists, the grass makes me rash

like hell and I scratch it out —
nails like needles, my skin turns

the same shade as the flowers
I’m molding into necklaces.

I have sucked in so much sap
that I am practically made

out of the flower.
Dig a hole in the earth, stick me in,

and some life with red petals,
sweet sap, and tough leaves

will grow in my place.