He is off to devour the babysitter No need for shoes in the summer heat No need for pants inside the house Three steps at a time, tiny claws awhir Tyrannosaurus teeth aching to crunch the bones of his Brazilian prey
Sometimes I remember to move carefully around his loud, joyful willingness Or I don't remember And tear a fat chunk of adventure out of him with a stinging rebuke
Sitting on her clutch of eggs agitatedly growling. She plucks out her own feathers- a warm belly for incubation. Depriving herself of nourishment for days. Her eyes glaze over, crazed. Maternal sacrifices run deep through her hollow bones.
Watching a broody hen reminds me of how depleting it can feel when you are a new mom.
Bitter, sour, barely sweet, when I was in your tummy, you craved that acidic fruit, and even though we've since leaned towards different suns and fermented, it's still my favorite.
Your twisted seed, what has become of me?
Growing up your love was a grapefruit. Pulpy, complex cuts, precision with a tiny knife. It left a sting on my lips, but it fed me, and it gave me vitamins and it was juicy. This morning as I consume these two halves I think of us.
Duplicate cells, my pink flesh and thick skin and biting taste, all from you. Both of us hollowed out and squeezed until we have nothing left to give, but we're still bright yellow on the outside.