An experiment in terror

Peeled, dark eyes put out with a paring
knife, finally split open, the pineapple
flashes its rotten core, a plain betrayal in
the six o’clock sunlight. Motes of dust
dance their oblivious hula above the
disaster. “You should have children
now, so you won’t die alone,” my
mother says. “You die alone no matter
what,” I say, gazing at the mess. The
phone is sliding from the crook of my
neck. “The pineapple’s gone bad,” I
inform my mother who’s fidgeting in
bed at 1:00 am, local time. The cheap
international connection crackles
ominously. Dylan materializes, fragrant
from a Dumpster raid and eager for fish.
No kitty, my cat. He licks his nose with
a pink tongue. “Buy grapefruits next
time.” My mother’sinsomnia worsens a
bit each day. My days. Her nights. Two
of us, awake.

Now if not forever

Silver balloons impaled on red
toothpicks, overlaid with velvety fuzz.
This is nature. You cannot understand,
only watch out. Our bodies, those
worlds, alien. Beauty is difficult. Call it
carnivorous. Call it the horizon. Wet
desert dweller, Venus fly trap, jungle
pitcher, nepenthes, brightly colored
impersonator, dissolver of unsuspecting
caterpillars. Innocent. Leaning on
extinction. Everything was always this
forbidden text, a rooting stalk, yourself.
A lover’s limbs, slender, nestled in scars,
the book of the marsh, something poised,
holding its breath almost to death,
hinging on footfalls, far away, fleeing.
Anything to repair the body, to make it
serviceable, futureful.

Take me to the desert. Leave me there.

Don’t let it trouble you, the rumor
of the body undoing itself,
like a gossip
in the produce aisle
—harsh glittering—
and step into spring
without knowing
what will slither
through the gate
of your fangs. Lethargic all winter, I am
now restless. It’s never been between
loving you
and leaving. Tossed,
the coin negates heads and tails, keeps
spinning on its crazy edge.
I carry bits of desert
in my shoes—white sand, prickly seeds
with Spanish names. Even the bugs
ambulate in black armors. I hardly
remember your eyes,
the sweet curves
of your mouth—large and too gentle
for a man’s.
Its smile belied your inner steel,
your glass towers honed by the sun.
In the perpetual twilight
between this world
and the next,
you hovered, benign
like a jungle pitcher.