I am scared, that’s all you need to know.
Whether it’s the flash-flood that gets me
or the rebel organ, the inside man plotting
my demise in the space beneath my ribs,
doesn’t matter. The lions will make of me
a triptych. My head, torso, and legs will each
arrive at different parties in the same clothes.
No one will know of my misdeeds, of the guilt
hiding under this scarf. Linden Tree, Basset Hound,
I could have done better, been more careful.
Mudflats where has your hair gone? I’m packing
pistils and stamens, I’m dangerous, ripe with love
and greased like a mud puppy. I’m vulnerable
and lonely. Venison is too gamey. Does the Strangler
Fig know what I did, will he tell my mom and dad
and brothers. Does he play bridge with grandpa?