Rebbecca Brown
how the woman came to porch
awoke rounded and empty when fruit
floored skies silent and bluing
the dust blood by blooded fruit
dropped down dripping
fault woman porch perched
bird she she-ing to listen falling
apricots plummed her fingers
flat from the mending
wash past pasts fruit eyed
toward tree branchings
worms dig through fleshes
deeply appled and aging
sweating sweet lords do
full body fruit felt falling
must to dust fruit drops she's
patched from not to the needling
my lover likes to pick up dead things
he heaved the rough husk of her up and into the bed
of the truck open-mouthed and bleeding tongue twisted
up coil of redblack slackness smacking
flat bruised blue roads punched
sigh highway skin swelled belly full back
and forth head rolled black eyes blank redblack
blood of tin fish wood and bottle can smell of dead
rivers oceans ice chests no matter how much he cuts
open and pulls out a matter of grass mud fur spine
stretched flat wood to wooden wall look redblack
wrapped once baby look there without
Rebbecca Brown is a PhD teaching fellow in Creative Writing at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. After she graduates, she will wander and wonder.