dainty things in blue

Poetry * Photos * Day-to-Day Life

Thursday, January 12, 2006

The Aftershock of Something

Written spring 2003

The Aftershock of Something

I ran my hands through pounds of rice, the rough
grains abrading the feeble tissue at the crotches
of my fingers, the freezing water turned milky
from starch. I pleaded for some gloves or salve
but she, the mistress of that game, had toughed
out swallowing a boiler of briny soup,
and so her bitten heart enjoyed my ache.

They salted the bed sheets. My swollen appendages
were not my swollen own. The rapt voyeurs
had much to say about Nevada’s blind,
like, “Grapes for eyes,” and “Stole my hogs,”
so I was left to foxtrot for my reputation.

I swathed my legs in gauzy paper lace,
allowed to be evacuated North
and tie the tent-straps tight, and tie the vines

before weevils mastered the knotted stalks.


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