Tumor

Tumor, you are mistaken:
You are actually a bag of poppy seeds
I will plant you in my yard
Come summer, all your petals
Will go haywire, orange and red
You will not spread
You will grow flowers instead
Tumor, you are mistaken:
You are actually an old wooden desk
I will rest my head upon you
On your surface, lovingly
I’ll carve three words next to my name
You will not spread
You will support my books instead
Tumor, you are mistaken:
You are actually my favorite cotton skirt
I will put you on in winter
When the winds come, you will not hinder
Their pathway to my knees
You will not spread
You will fit nicely instead
Tumor, you are mistaken:
You are actually a small, frenzied moth
I will watch you from the front door
You will kiss the light on my porch
Find in its brilliance fatal joy —
You will not spread
You will die for love instead