The moon was a heavy drop of milk
in a creamy dark sky
and I sparkled, breaking free
of my cube, gloriously,
in a riot of color.
Of course, it was dark
so the moon made everything
glow like silver -or dead skin.
–
But oh, how the dance unfolded
beneath my feet! And my heart was full
of night, as night should always be:
forgiving, warm, dark, and open.
The apple stem hits my teeth
as I hungrily gnash at the flesh
and I imagine tasting other hands
that handled the apple before I did;
I didn’t bother washing it, just the
almost-acceptable polish-on-the-pants
technique, which leaves all the germs
yet a nice shiny denim glow.
I had the good sense to pull my hair back
or I’d be eating that too.
My curls taste a little like old showgirl,
with a dalliance of muppets.
My kisses taste of golden delicious
and chocolate. With a dash of mania.
I ate through to the seeds.
I look at the seeds, the possibilities,
the knowledge of fruit and skin
and all Eden held before we mucked it up.
I toss the whole core in the trash.
I unwrap another kiss.
The day was so long,
it took two and a half days
to finish it.
I discovered
sidewalks laugh
when you trip and
the house belly dances
late at night,
to the tune of white noise.
I’m rumbling sympathetically
in deep places like a bulldozer
aiming low, heavy, and strong.
There are pieces of me
on the moon
and on the mountain
and floating with salt in the sea.
I’m never complete
because I have bits of fluff
feathering birds’ nests
and stuck inside the railing
of a high-rise fire escape.
I search horizons for colors
to add to my fading eyes.
I listen intently to wind
to learn the oldest songs.
There are memories of me
in a displaced book and
foraging fingers.
I am nowhere special
and no one to hold tightly.
My tethers are loose
and I will fly most quietly.
