He calls me at midnight to talk about “the bloom”. How mostly
I hid in the folds there. Once, when we were done,
there was blood on the front of my shirt. I liked how he didn’t
ignore it. Within 15 minutes, the roses I stole
near the Wasco State Prison were irredeemably wilted.
Everyone knows a woman’s body can incorporate the dead.
Hello? I say, then retreat into codes the color of veins apparent.
Turns out, the shed skin is much longer than the snake.
I kept on blooming while he watched.
Louise Mathias is the author of two books of poems, Lark Apprentice (New Issues Press) and The Traps (Four Way Books). She lives in Joshua Tree, California.