Orchid

Orchid

I was punished
for my birth
with a periwinkle
orchid.
It was rooted
in my mouth
by the gods
at the ghosting
of my first
breath.
“You must provide
a chapel
for those who wish
to worship it,”
they said.
“You must nourish it
with costly food,”
and: “It is meant
to ruin you.”
I was ashamed
of its gawky
wings,
its very rarity.
It lumbered
in my nightmares,
unwieldy
in its fragility,
burdensome
as a dead
bison.
It took all
of my strength
to maintain it.
Still does,
but the petals
taste clean now,
not the least
bitter. The petals
fly out nights
like albino bats,
and back, furled
gargoyles when I
wake.
No one's ever told me,
learn
to treat this
as your child.
No one's
ever told me,
it is necessary.
But I believe it.
I believe it.
And I have come
to love it
as my own.

--Kristen McHenry