Sweet petunia, do you know your mother?

do you know that deadly nightshade is your kind,

your sticky sap, your blood, your closest kin?

that in the ancient flower language

you are resentment! anger! haughty rage!

despite your rich sweet scent, deep rose-pink throat, soft curves?

that your own cute petunia name means

disappointing smoke . . .

tobacco that will only let you down

if sucked upon, inhaled from cigarettes?

What of it? when we all must grow in muck

be fed and warmed and soiled by what we are

caressed by snakes or not caressed at all

some pulsed-out poisons wound, some boldly heal

some rhythmic wildness gives, grows, upholds life

and after all mixed message speaks its mingle truth —

in ancient tongue petunia also means

"your [sultry]sweetness [strangely] soothes

and [strangely] gives me peace'"