Natural History Lessons

A single taste  of the precious jam on my tongue  in Winter  and I am here again. Sunglow green leaves, triads of midnight purple treasure, mingle with the scarlet unripe. Chalky lavender stems, studded with pale, mirthless thorns. A delicious smell, beyond words, cuts straight to the limbic. Lovingly lost here — the rhythm of fingers plucking, the pleasing patter in the pail. The brambly black raspberry patches around my parent’s house are a magical machine that folds  layers of time back onto themselves, over and over, like berries swirled into sweet batter. All at once: I am a feral, bare-legged child, running wild with my sister, sweet tang in my mouth, a proud map of scratches on our legs announcing our fierce and united denial  of pants. I am a young woman, my sister,  pregnant and persistent as ever, her belly a great round berry. We plucked for hours, entranced, I almost forgot my class and was late, Later, she napped. I am middle-aged, deliciously round and lumpy, a bit prickl

My familiar and I  walked through  the sooty evening of January 1st, 2023. The rain pouring down on us, muddy sidewalks flooded, storm drains gurgling a treacherous goblin song. Earlier that day,  I overheard an old women say to her young granddaughter —  “better rain than snow.” This is the kind of thing Average Folk say in the Netherworld. Their chipper,  quivering denials die quickly, rust and shatter,  in the permanent  Late Evening. Souls like mine  blaze brighter and faster here, more vengeful and passionate against the gray.   In the night, I scream for Snow. I prostrate myself before the Granddaughter and plead for her To Remember Snow and Burn like me against the Rain.  

I sat in the dark studying bones. They contain billions of little channels you know —   canaliculi. Handing treats to countless   little princess-witches and spidermen, the spidey sense in the back of my skull   tingled a touch too late.   A dark shadow   in the shape of a man   was striding across the lawn. The primal fear triggered —   an unpleasant adaptation   to fight, flee, freeze, or fawn in hopes that we would not be forced. Tearing of tissues the first concern but more concerning — the future burden of bearing unwanted births, endless pleading mouths . But as the form drew closer,   I swear I saw colors swirl around him as the dimensions of the universe   Frameshifted in the dark. And it was warmth and comfort and friend —     my husband returned!   That night,   I dreamt of poisonous ex-lovers holding me close in giant warm arms yet still distant somehow. Walking in the gray gloaming of the morning, a golden familiar by my side, a bruised purple plum   oozes, hiccups, and wri