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09.11.24
Nuclear Herbarium
MUTANT GLORIOSA DAISIES

Mary Stamos Collection, Three Mile Island

With floret centers so prolific
they turn—furred caterpillar folds?
zipped mouths? burn marks?—
the quite contrary daisy faces grow
dense in Mary’s garden.
Pollination breezes come mixed with
other winds in the wind in the onrush
of nuclear decay. Effects,
say officials, unclear, but clouds seed
cellular buildup in flowering parts,
and Mary’s daisies overwork
to work, as she does, in the hush-hush
becoming—what? By the silver bells
of the split river, Mary, Mary
gathers rows to array for committees:
their smiles mimicking the daisies’,
elongated by duplicity.


 


MUTANT QUEEN ANNE’S LACE


galaxies in the lattice of look-through : you


look through me : from umbel to umbel-


double I am [am I?] undomesticated carrot


blooms : constellated : delicate : simple


as umbrellas blown open in subatomic storm


and blossom memory : can you see



my secret? old Earths (atmospheres) rouse


and compel my seeds : the more radiant skies



that predate teeth and the teeth of your eyes


biting in : look : I am not one : not one


sensical stem : but two for the picking : so choose


[will you?] my knotted stars and the dropped


stitches of time-space : I am [oh, yes] fulgent


for the bumblers : for your flown body : for my own


 


MUTANT DANDELION

Yes, a seed eminence.          
Then a menace of
stem. I I, therefore I            
thirst with force—
my stalk, approximate          
girth of milkshake
straw, hollow. [See:
radiation survivors,
unquenchable thirst of.]
Absence fills my O-
throat, atomic anatomy                   
becoming habitat here.
Bodies changing shape.
Do you snub my green
profusion, my lion’s teeth
[where whimsy married
predatory hunger]
my extra inflorescence         
reaching fractal release?
Heed this: I riot yellow.
I radiate for you, untilled.
Pick me or pick me
not, make a post-chain-
reaction chain of me
and my likenesses or not,
I will overbloom.
I will adorn the change
if not a childhood. I will
habituate you to my
presence in what you call
your field.


 


 
NRC File Photo.

 



MUTANT YELLOW ROSE


 
     Look, my double bud is               a stubbornness I pursue
 
in pursed petals, as if holding               breath for the paranatural
 
     elements that persist here,               serrated sepals sensing
 
dense air. Am I more than               a job doing its body? Verdurous

fuse box, I parse the code-           altering particles that make more

     of me than I want. You too              sway and refuse, so accept

       this yolk-hued withholding.             I am [am I not?] so bold.


 



MUTANT ROSE

after mistakes : after the reactor melts down : failure
has a sharp metallic taste : becomes acrid ghosts

in wet mouths : in walls : in the gardens’ green cells :

in the tang and DNA of wild things a rogue radiance
unfolds : and so a common rose writes one self

too many : two blossom heads : an over-eager stem

rising where progeny and bees should be : anther-
and stigma-less : [don’t be so— ] : yet irrepressible

syllables unfurl : petals burned white : syntax bent

in the whorls and stems : and so pollinators ghost
the sterile bloom : and like a flower shot through with

mutant exuberance, I clasp my hands : I cannot help

the radioactive dust rising in your roots : these words
an apology with so many green facts to support


 



 
NRC File Photo.

 



MUTANT SUNFLOWER

      Did you pray        for this? A
double doubt?        A multiplied self
  to say your life        back to you?
 I and I elongate         in opposite
directions on       a deranged stem
one face facing up       as a second
     faces back         fist closed—
   my split blossom      heads touched
    by a radiance         other than sun.
       You remember      my wild kin:
         Evenings     as a child walking
    after dinners        into adulthood
  with friends       you talked in alleys
       among them.       They grew
    from fence lines      by trash bins.
    Away was your       dream as they
prayed wheeling        suns into kernels
  to feed returning         goldfinches.
     What should      I have been?
  You see, it may be       too early or
      late in the field      to know
       elation from      dark seed.


 



LEGACY SITE
                                   
Rocky Flats National Wildlife Refuge, former nuclear weapons plant
 

At the pullout I’ve mapped to after

 
          decades, lavish toadflax and cheatgrass
 
wave at what’s passing fast. Fields sweat
 
          white bindweed. From the sign marked
 
Refuge, I enter. Yes, praying rains keep
 
          down the dust. Leveled hills wind back
 
to range and suburb. Hazy. I wade
 
          beyond my unseeing. Chains that agencies
 
strung up for my protection or theirs, or.
 
          The tolerant seeds, mixed in, succeed
 
at locoweed, mullein. A patchwork blush
 
          of blanket flowers. Yes, hushed, but in
 
detectable levels, stray Plutonium atoms
 
          burn in topsoil, barely root-held. Radial
 
thistles spike near gone cooling ponds
 
          that tried. A grasshopper sparrow chirrs
 
from its perch as a blue Mylar star—slipped
 
          from a child’s wrist? a party nearby?—
 
drifts into power lines. Toward facts gone
 
          critical in xeric prairie. Blown, yes, toward
 
the legacy site—toward Woman Creek and
 
          the hilly brain folds that kept weapons plant
 
apart. I turn. Squint back at home, hidden
 
          by hills. See how my mind made its home
 
in not—not downwind. Yes, we lived
 
          in agencies, I mean adjacencies. Hot scars
 
bandaged in grass, asphalt, flax. Children
 
          in the math, with buried factors. Eyes for
 
restoration and residual effects. A meadowlark
 
          signals from my blind spot. Cottonwoods
 
drink down seams toward the city. Yes, it was
 
          a city then. It is. Horizon like. Weighed
 
in plain sight. The uncontainable plains
 
          wind and watershed our throats close on.

Radha Marcum won the 2023 Washington Prize for her collection Pine Soot Tendon Bone (2024). She was also awarded the New Mexico Book Award in 2018 for her first collection of poems, Bloodline (2017), about her grandfather’s work building the first atomic bombs in New Mexico during World War II. Her poems appear frequently in journals including Bennington Review, EcoTheo, North American Review, Pleiades, and Poetry Northwest, among others. She is the founder of Poet to Poet.