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Nicelle Davis After a Fight The cat curled at my center catches fire— light swells in the kitten’s red-belly. Helium breath. Rising. My throat dilates to ten. Chard creature crowns—purring. Slab of meat falls from my mouth. Lands on its feet. Blisters dragging towards you. Trail of fluid—cord strung across the kitchen floor. the hell is that
you ask, jumping atop the counter. Hope. I
say, but Rope is what you hear. Bow of guts playing— nails down a long chalk board. I think this
Half- Gone likes you, I say. Make it stop, you say. I take it outside to roll in the dirt. I leave open
tuna cans at the door. Funnel of desert ground rise where the pet paws the scent of sun cook fish. From the window we watch dust-devils
lift tumbleweeds; offering of matted sticks to
air. |
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