poison
A perfectly roasted chicken taunts her carving knife, its meaty breast thrust forward. Ready to die at battle, though it was already dead.
She knew it was poison. Of this she was sure.
She scrapes it into the trash, mashes it into breakfast’s coffee grounds and eggshells, so it won’t be confused with something edible. Bundles it downstairs and shoves it deep in a trashcan, safely away.
She runs from one neighbor to the next, bangs her fist on each door.
Begs for a chicken through tears.
Do you have a chicken I can borrow?
I poisoned mine by mistake/I didn’t mean to/ Really/Oh no, I threw it away.
She cries on the stairway. How would she feed them?
Sounds of sirens get closer, and closer until they fall silent.
And then the lights, strobing. Red then blue. Red. Blue.
Red. Blue.
She used to watch her mother when they sat for supper. Held her fork poised above her meal, waiting for her mother to swallow a bite of each thing on her plate before she swallowed her own. Chicken, potatoes, salad. Tests to be sure that tonight’s meal wasn’t her last. Wasn’t spiced with only freedom in mind.
castaway
Help me escape this island, this cold cold island.
She writes urgent messages to send in bottles. But there are no bottles, and no ocean to send them on.
So.
She tapes them to walls and hopes, wild-eyed, for deliverance.
The devil lives under the big rock in the backyard.
Dinner is poison. Do not eat it out of the trash.
Something is wrong with my knuckles. I need to cut them out.
I am speaking Portuguese. Can you hear me?
I am afraid I will push you out of the bedroom window.
Did you leave a note in my pocket with no words on it?
I need black crayons.
The dishes in the sink need to stay dirty.
If you come home and cannot see me, this means the curse has taken hold.
The dog next door barks in code.
I turned off the electricity. All of it.
Our mouths are holy and unclean.
I cannot feel myself. God will not talk to me.
Don’t try to help me. You are in danger. Only I can protect you.
goddess
Crabgrass breaks through the driveway in some random lattice, the green of its crawl stark against last year’s topcoat. The garage door, rust-locked at an angle, a veneer of dirt pocked by raindrop fossils.
Lifeless yews in strict formation hold tight to their tempered needles. Their coats of quills. Pellets of pearlite freckle around stems of crisped begonias and shattered mums. They stand silent, leaves still bold enough to crackle if you get close enough to listen.
Mud wasps land gently and pulse on bags of topsoil, open and smeared on the walkway. Aphids blow bubbles in flowering grasses. A rusted trowel with a splintered handle of once-blue, marks holes, undug.
Dear ___,
Everything’s great here. The garage door is fixed and I finished the gardening. Would love to see you and ____ for the holidays!
(I keep your teeth in a windowless white envelope. The scab from our cord, cushioned by cotton in a small paper box. Sometimes I suck on it, afraid to chew.)
today in exile
It’s been snowing steadily for days/weeks/months. Gusts of wind rush to fill in the feeble path she dug from the door.
A fish in a tank, open-mouthed, as the white of it eclipses the windows. She longs to sleep until it ends. But not even sleep could temper this cold.
On this _th day, snow clouds yield to a weak blue sun. She hears the rattle of an engine above the tops of the trees.
Hears the whine of the plane as it circles, a heavy thump as a box hits the ground and splits, spilling its contents into the drifts.
She runs out barefooted, shovel in hand.
Sees the pilot tip his cap with a nod, and the plane fades from view.