Natural History
Study the origin of us. You, prone to sinus infections, wore a
coat too heavy for the weather. You carried a shotgun and a
jackrabbit, swinging it like a lantern. I was attracted to your
silhouette, the illusion of bulk and light.
So here we are. Study the evolution of us. I sit on the porch, swinging
a bottle of Cuervo, watching phoenix skip across the mesa, too quick
for their little bones. You wear the tattered coat, cough phlegm hot
as chili peppers, slap a rabbit on the cutting board.
What do you make of this study, the interrelationship of organisms,
our own natural history? You gut the rabbit with one slice, sure of
the precision of the knife, the thick blood of the kill.
After Losing a Lover
At any library, she ponders outdated encyclopedias, and,
randomly, opens an "I." India. She thinks it's India she wants,
a heat that will shrink her skin until each bone takes shape.
A map. Her finger, fat with health, traces along the Ganges, and
she chants cities like a mantra. Allahabad. Benares. Patna. Bathing,
praying, scattering of ashes; the river has it all.
A beggar, wrapped in rags, a naked ascetic, eyes clear and sure, a
covered woman balancing a jug atop her head. Those appeal to her, not
plump arms jangling bracelets, saris in sapphire or ruby, hair
smoothed by jasmine oils.
She wants what's really her, neutrality of bones, skin, sinew, and
sweat. Not the betrayal of breasts, their curves a possibility of
lust. Not the betrayal of monthly blood, its scent a promise of birth.
First appeared in Puerto del Sol Winter 1993
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