EMILY KENDAL FREY
who doesn’t love
a creature making light? I let one catch me, make a nest
to keep us, then the rains come & blow it all down, I almost drown.
Why do I want to wreck the boat of my life?
In the distance an island dotted by peach trees,
fuzzy bottoms to grab & eat.
Feeding oneself isn’t love, I don’t think—
survival means we lay down
enough need to make it out
of the present moment.
All the great thinkers eventually grew still, fat fruit
rotting at their feet. Those who are cruelest are also close to the gods,
maybe closest—what is real
is not always good. Firefly snuffed out. When the screen door slams you can feel
their eyes on you. We don’t get to choose much but wait what about this
heart beat? I receive no message
regarding my affection—you must be there but the sounds, temporarily,
are mute. After I broke my contract with darkness
I watched a wasp die in my living room, pink light. Life
became not easier but brighter, I mean
I could see better the edge of mystery. Glowing peach, bobbing out to sea.