Spartina

Her place is the edge of the sea:
planted on the coastline
one foot dug into the beach sands
the other slipping beneath the cold dark waves

surrounded by water she is unable to drink
and eternally waiting for the scattered storm
to lick the salt of tears and sweat
from ragged, fraying skin.

She is patient.

When the drought comes,
the Riverlanders will paw at dusty, bare earth
and splinter their nails on channel lag,
digging desperately for untainted fluid
to raise to their lips.

The Lake Dwellers will dredge and wallow in pits of mud
and beg to be pulled free
when their bodies inevitably sink down
into the viscous mire.

But she will be where she has always been:
surviving the salt and the wind and the thirst,
expertly waiting for the clouds to open,
for a sign to raise her face to the sky.

Teeth

Do not pretend
you didn't know
that this is who I am.

It was all there in front of you.

I have always worn everything
rather painfully
on my sleeve,
and it was you
who chose to believe
the sharper, darker
aspects of my nature
were costume jewelry.

It is not my fault
you saw the smile
and not the teeth.

The smile was genuine.

So were the canines.

Laying Waste

I will warn you only once.

Do not stand in my way.

If called upon,
I will tear the fabric of this world apart
with my bare fists,
and throw it in God's face
to spite him with his own love.

When the horn sounds,
I will rend the flesh and gristle
from the bodies of men and monsters,
and use their remnants to decorate my clothes
and paint my face in blood.

I am warning you, just this once.

Open wounds and razed earth are riding in my wake.

And if you should stand before my horse,
I will not spare you.

The Rind

You can keep your blood red apples.

I will leave them in the bowl
along with any connotations about
temptation
innocence
and lust
that might want to accompany them.

No matter what the poets say,
I have never found a mirror for myself
or my desires
in their thin, waxy skins
and ill-defined cores.

Instead, give me the fruits with the thickened rinds;
My nails are sharp enough to pierce grapefruit peels
and I can temper my patience to divide the orange slices.

Offer me the fruits with the stone centers;
I know how deeply I can bite peaches without chipping teeth
and can tie knots in cherry stems with my tongue.

Give me the complicated fruits
the strange fruits
the difficult ones.

I will carve the pineapples with steel blades.

I will gouge the pips from the pomegranates.

I will crack the coconuts in my fist.

You can keep your flimsy apple metaphors.
I was never the delicate girl in that story
and I will not take such a lazy offering
just because some snake
or witch
or handsome man held it out to me at arm's length.

I will take the fruits of my labors
and enjoy them with smug satisfaction
rather that subtext.