Tricksy

your stomach. your hip. your leg. your eiderdown softness. your strange sheltered skin.

my sharp little teeth.

your blueberried neck.



















she opens a book midsection. she finds an idle knife. plies it. presses through the page.
she cuts a little dome. man sized. perfect for the belly of.

she picks him up by the collar. little natty fruit loop. she presses him to the page. a space
notched out. face down. she pastes him with some glue.

brush up. brush down. oh how those curls lie still.

shut. slam. snap. shelf. oh spine. oh my fine and lovely spine. oh dust. oh gathering. oh
silverfish, my smithy, shall we set a feast for thee...



















'the image is of a leopard. a leopard with green eyes. the leopard woke up.'

'the image is of a sleepwalker.'

'and what were the consequences of standing up to him?'

'that's right. you learned to make yourself small.'



















I'm going to tell you a strange and erotic story and by the end see what it does to you.

This is a true story.

Once. I found a mouse.
An infant mouse.
It was early summer.
It was raining.

The mouse had fur. It was very cute. It was wet. And cold. I thought it was dead. I was, at
that time, nursing. My son. Who was napping. He was very small.

I went outside to feed the birds.
I found an infant mouse.
I picked it up by the tail to fling its corpse into the woods. I had six cats. They were
vicious killers.

The mouse began to move. A little. I took him into the bathroom. I wrapped him
in a towel. No,a washcloth. A soft cloth diaper. One of those, I forget. Something very
gentle. He was a baby mouse. He was just barely alive. I held his death or life in my
hand. Fragile egg. I did not know what to do.
My breasts at that time were filled with milk.

I undid my buttons. Or, I pulled up my shirt. I can't remember which. From my breasts I
gently pressed some milk. Into some vessel. A cup? A tiny ramekin? I forget. The milk
so milky white. Pearly. Breastmilk is very sweet if you did not know that. Sugary. Less
fatty than cowmilk or goatmilk or any. Very special.

From this expressed liquid, I put my finger into accumulated warm . The thing about
breastmilk. It's warm to the touch. To the lips. I dribbled a few drops on the mouse's lips.
And he began to move. Just slightly. I did this again. He shuddered a little.


And then I let him be.

Which is where I leave you.

Goodnight, sweet dreams.

I think of you still in deeply darkly ways.

I hope that you are well.

And some other things.




POEM ARCHIVE