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MARRIAGE, AFTER OUR FIRST CHILD I can no longer trust myself how I take the life out of everything-- stifle sound, shade us from sunlight, strip drama from the landscape. I remember deserts we crossed by night, boulders with their long shadows threatening our death and better to fuck by. I’ve sanded down the edges; even the stars were too bright. Blinded as we are now to the bio- luminescence, I’ve moved us to the coast, a bay rigged with oil fine enough for walking; you wouldn’t want it for a swim. The last time you came to the beach you were left holding the bag (we’re no good for a threesome anymore). Poking at hermits, you asked does anybody still have legs? And me, there rubbing out jellyfish stings with baby pink potions as the spilled petroleum cleaves to baby’s feet only to be faced down with baby oil-- all of it a labor after which I’d trade an ocean for a kiddie pool in the yard. I do, my love (I’ve done) with our appetites, killed the hunt to hang our skins aside that couple of clean diapers on the line to dry. |
