Anatomy of a Dress

Mexico

We shit in a hole, got sand in our teeth, fought army ants in our sleep. Remember? I got so sick you had to cut my meat: pale cubes tough as dice. Then you got sick and I went swimming. That was wrong. But didn’t I bring you a bucket of purple starfish, fetch fresh water from the cenote, kiss your griddle forehead? No. Those are lies. Sorry I told so many. You wanted to fuck and I kept pinching the yellow candle out. Sorry about the dark. Sorry I filled your head with eggs. Sorry I wasn’t really sleepy.

Amaryllis

To say, Yes, I lied, but consider my position, send three spiders in a matchbox. Rubies and juniper are apologies. Sign your name with blue ink if you want another chance, green for ambivalence, red if you’ve torn your mouth from its hinges. A bird’s nest warns that desire obeys only itself. Twine says shame. You love her, but love yourself more? Wrap a magnet in newspaper. Abalone means We must resign ourselves to fate, paintbrushes There is much I cannot understand. Cotton is astonishment. And if you know you must speak, but not how or where to begin? Amaryllis.

Joel Brouwer