The garlic clove crunches under a mallet’s
teeth, or maybe your palm.
Picture this: a red-headed
child walks in the door,
swinging her backpack.
She asks why the triceratops eat only flowers.
You’ve taught her to love the unknown,
fear the omnipotents,
but she wants the answers anyway.
she feels like July
as she pulls away the cornhusks and leans
on your side
of the table. She tells you
stir fry makes the grass grow,
but weeds live in the oil. Lemon juices race
down your arm, burning
into the mosquito bite on your elbow.
Outside, rain patters the tulips.

First Published with Jet Fuel Review

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s