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Six monarch butterfly cocoons
clinging to the back of your throat—
you could feel their gold wings trembling.
You were alarmed. You felt infested.
In the downstairs bathroom of the family home,
gagging to spit them out—
and a voice saying Don’t, don’t—
Reprinted by permission of Copper Canyon Press, www.coppercanyonpress.org.
More like a basket
of twig and hair,
surprisingly
tall
and deep—
in a tree
outside my bedroom
window.
Eighth Century, Mayan
You’re supposed to say shoke but I like shock.
Lady Shock.
Who drew a spiked rope through her
offering tongue to
burn blood
into the threads of bark paper, coax
a smoke―
so she could froth up
the Vision Snake…
Mouths.
In this particular design
the Snake has two. The lower
She had a parched heart, Araneus Illaudatus.
She had a name
in her own tongue, wasn’t
a Roman Senator, wasn’t
orb-weaver
with a rocking-chair and corn-cob pipe―
What
could true her name, she was
wholly alien―
A fanged knob, body
big as my thumb―
to the first joint.
―