Wisteria contain yourself, your legs are far
too feral—spawning by day, rising to twelve
new shoots by morning.
The apple tree spied you
making a pass at the pear
who has done nothing
but boast about her figure.
green, my curves.
Remember your thirst, Wisteria, what first
sent you scaling—how you bet the English
Ivy you’d fetch the sun, a wheel of light to throw.
But your tongues are always
in the way, dripping
and who will trust a tongue
whose purple is her iris
whose iris is her fall
whose kiss could paint
portraits in the dark.
With your many eyes, Wisteria, swallow
what bears. Your trellis fills.
Your garden betrays you as you betray.
Feast, Wisteria, on the light you’ve stolen.
First published in Pebble Lake Review.
Natasha Kochicheril Moni is a naturopathic medical student and a writer. Her poetry, fiction, essays, and book reviews regularly appear in journals including: Defenestration Magazine, Rattle, Indiana Review, The Pedestal Magazine, and Fourteen Hills. Natasha’s poems have been nominated for Best of the Web and Best of the Net.