Stink

They think you came first from Japan
in packing crates²
hoping for mulberries, figs³ and persimmons,for time to vibrate to one another
come mating season,
one signal longer and lower than any other,for good sidings and soffits to wander
all winter,
where you’d never let loose the stink of coriander.First you tried Pennsylvania, then south to Florida
and north to Maine:
you hitched⁴ your rides across America.Dodged⁵ jumping spiders and katydids
with eyes for your eggs,
met crickets, ground beetles⁶ and earwigskeen to make you dinner. Learned to prosper⁷
on lima beans,
soya beans, peaches and peppers.One fall my sister came and erected⁸
a blank sheet
on our deck overnight, a light behind itto gather bugs⁹. Who was she searching for?
Not you, hibernating¹⁰
in here with us as though here was whereyou’d been headed for. Until the day
we turned up the heat,
making you crazy, blowing your cover.If you were me, you went out still dreaming
of the words you’d heard
along the road but never hitched to meaning:Asian pear and flowering dogwood,
corn and cherry and apricot tree.