Pink Sundays

He closes a cabbage moth in the cave two toddler hands make. The wing life fluttering for a way out the Wednesday before I die in the fire I’ve been promised. Sky drops a freckle. We are ready to quit the park. There is shame in the grass we leave behind. He opens his hands to me, a gentle dust stain on his palm & asks what happened

cabbage moth

The tree is sick. The tree is why he bought the house & it is filled with white flies. He pokes the scab bark & nothing happens. A man charges $300 to poke the scab bark & nothing happens. The flies are too small. Black leaves slop against the windows. The death will be a block party that lasts several months & is silent as a fence

cabbage moth

We are four bowls of uneaten cheerios. He is in the corner, a page in his mouth. We listen for the bitter grape of the neighbors’ TV. How do you woman like this? He opens his fruit mouth. There is nothing but the black streak of the corpse tree. The page still dry I bend to read. It says the fire will taste

cabbage moth

There is no color in my nightgown. When the Santa Ana wind comes I kiss what mother taught me, sweet terrible, lips parted the aperture of pearl. We speak honeymoon Spanish until he forces a long suck & gems & bitter throat & sound. Jade, amber, sapphire. These are fingers underneath. Feed me that fucking diamond

cabbage moth

Nothing is wrong because here is a French bread pizza. I put the cheesy wrapper in the trunk. I put coconuts in the trunk. None of you fuckers read my play but here is a piece of my stomach for you to watch. Here is the anglerfish from your night terror & here is special underwear for your stupid kidneys. There was never blood in your soda pop & God didn’t tell me your name

cabbage moth

Either I vomit on the cat or the cat vomits on the floor. Nothing is real except the big happening. I fixed the Bible for us so you can kiss me with your eyes open I miss you. Que lastima mi amor, que lastima mi arbol. Don’t look in the trunk. I am so sorry about the fat. I am so sorry I vomited your stinking heart

cabbage moth

I say Cadillac is beautiful. Soft maroon leather never demands what is pink inside my bones. He and he and he among us. I am smitten by the algae in our dirty lake. Finally there is joy at the end pieces of bread. The two recite commercials as they rip. Give the wet birds my lunch, I can’t wait to see my skull

 

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© Raul Rafael Alvarez