Cleaning the floors today moving furniture, the dust, which is afterall just our shedding, we sweep it in a pile as if we could gather ourselves back up again, keep each cell, each white hair or brown connected to us forever, if only we knew the secret to putting it back or keeping it from falling in the first place. Never brush never wash, lie down in the pile and reabsorb it all. But it won't return we can't contain the laws of physics, we have no more say than the toddler at the barber with a fist full of hair crying, "Put it back mommy, put it back."
Pierce the skin to know the sugar in the blood. You're not afraid of death, but to think of blindness or a foot sawed off by sterile instruments sharp with purpose and good intentions-- that will steer the sweetest tooth toward a different sort of promiscuity.
Your butcher's knives gleam on magnetic strips above the kitchen counter, rectangles of wood stand ready to blunt their cleave. Thin scars hatched upon surfaces fail to remind you that nothing remains unmarked.
It takes no time at all for the blade to slip and enter into your own warm flesh, your blood a bright exclamation on the kitchen towel that absorbs it, your hunger unsatisfied.
A fever's coming, I can feel it quick go get the thermometer and for God's sake rinse it off first Lord knows where that thing has been how many times it's been dropped in the toilet or poked into dirty corners it has no business in and bring me a glass of water and a tylenol broken in two you know I can't swallow those things whole.
So she goes to the drawer and fishes around for the digital thermometer, which she can't find and when she does the battery is dead and she's cut her finger on the xacto knife her brother must have put in there and blood is getting everywhere she fills a glass with water she has made sure is exactly the right temperature but of course it isn't and her mother won't drink.
Instead she complains of the blood inconsiderate child when you know I am so very very sick to come in here getting red marks everywhere ruining your blouse you will scrub that right out missy and forget the water just bring that bottle the one I bought to give to your cousin on his wedding hell he don't need it he's young and healthy gonna give that girl something to think about with those big hands of his and that fine mouth no I'm drinking that whiskey go get it now.
She finds it in the cupboard under the kitchen sink still in a brown paper bag and when she gives it to her mother she leaves a bright red fingerprint right on the neck but her mother doesn't even see it and can't taste the fact her mouth has kissed the smooth round opening first. Good night mama she says and leaves the room pulling the heavy door slowly closed behind her drops of her blood landing softly on the floor.
She wakes up and sees the bruises but she doesn't know where they came from. No, it's not like that, she wonders which table corner or dresser drawer she has idly clipped this time and why it doesn't hurt more when the marks are so colorful and large.
She remembers going to work in those days muscles sore from last night's fucking, new muscles she hadn't been aware of, a secret twinge that made her smile or sometimes wonder why it didn't hurt more to leave.
God, it feels good to purge. No, it's not like that, she doesn't retch except metaphorically while that which she no longer needs comes spilling out not even leaving a mark.
The boat hit the dock today revved hard backwards but it wasn't enough, we watched the pilings fall over and the workers run back from the approaching starboard bow The blue chairs lined up on the stern deck invited us to sit and watch the clouds cast shadows on the hills once we got under way after the crash.
The dam is a marvel, miracle of electricity generated that we take for granted and forget the land beneath the reservoir which was of course, sacred. How casually they mention in the promotional DVD they gave us to take home and watch, the flooded petroglyphs, the other people who even today consider the small outcrop that remains above the flood to be holy.