when I see a leaf, I nod at it.

when it’s basil, I drop it in a pot

and cook myself something good.
I might share this.

I might invite everyone I know over

all at once.

this would be impractical,

everyone squeezed together, one

organism.
we swim in oxytocin — 

when I say, pass the salad,

fifty or more hands reach

and those same fifty

hand me my greens.
when someone talks,

heads turn with unconventional attention,

giving the speaker space to

spill their heart

and retrieve the feeling of home. 
one woman named Anastasia

splays her unrequited love bare.

it’s an incoherent story.

she cries, breathes deeply.

no one looks frustrated

or checks the time

inconsiderately.

instead, we wash her in there, there’s

dab her eyes with a napkin,

and add avocado to

her salad.