Natural History Lessons

  My symbiont —  Presented to me in pixels, Called to me from the ether, Traveled to me 1,500 miles To cement our bond. With the body of a sausage, Legs of a gopher, And the jaws of a killer, He is a ridiculous golden wolf Engineered into  Perfect permanent puppyhood. Our symbiosis is primarily trot-based: Front feet flicking joyfully, Pissin’ n sniffin’ On every dam post. The ludicrous length of his tail — A stiff yellow rope  Tracking high above him, Tagging his location Like a slightly stretched question mark Marking his constant canine queries — Odor-based inquiries, Beyond my cerebral comprehensions. The uneven flop of his radar ears — One pointing sideways, One straight up Catching signals from all directions. The beloved slack and curl Of his black ripply lips As He snuffs and huffs Invisible trails along the earth. Delighted, The tight coil in my chest Releases, Worrying ceases. I see — The many hues of leaves, The singing shapes of the trees, The smoky peach...

  It was her time and The Pack was ready. With a toothy grin, a fang hanging over her lip, she slipped into the night to join her furry brethren — a chorus of joyous howls in the distance marking the reunion. At first, no one noticed the odd, odd thing —  an extra tilt of salt into the stew, weeds in the garden, candy wrappers in the kitchen — Marks of a changeling. Then one day, the youngest grandchild remarked “Grandma’s little finger is missing.” Grandma’s favorite — they were known for their wild imagination and were paid no mind. The random clove of garlic, appearing on the kitchen counter, where Grandma had been chopping carrots , was also paid no heed, swept aside into the bin. Things got really interesting after that. She let the grandkids watch endless TV, cooked and ate a steak (nearly raw). A bottle of brandy was found in the beehives. Vegetables, thrown from the window. These fennel defenestrations finally made the family take notice of the changes to her head — bu...

On certain mornings, I wake up  and  someone i s taking  a cheese grater to my heart.   Damn dumb cells . . . they can't help  but remember how,  in a prior madness, I used to rush about early assembling my tarnished armor strapping it over tender, tired calves and harried hamstrings.   After preparing my war kit  of: nutrient dense snacks,  various varieties of caffeine,  chocolate  — perhaps to pull me through, I would leap into my blue chariot racing toward it again, a minnow flapping desperately against my ribs, gasping for breath, starving  in the dry dark cage of my chest.     I would arrive,  stand boldly   before their gray faces  and lift my flaming sword, trying to excavate their joy —  Anyone? Anyone?, Any damn ambition  beyond  maintaining position? Please! I would plead — This is so beautiful! It is all around! We are so lucky to study it so!   Implacable,...

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 ...

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...

  You used to be all green segments  neatly arranged  in a perfect little row. Nubbins for legs,  little orange Velcro hooks for toes.   With such machinery  and such control, you’d inch along — all day and all night.   Beneath your bronze helmet, serrated mandibles, clacking chitinously, mindlessly macerating all leafy matter in your path. Frass burning out your ass —  a nonstop energy extractor, a tireless wormy expander and contractor. Gross, Orderly, and Acceptable — You stuck to the contract. Kept the pact.   Until, one day you blacked out. Woke up in a bag,  a disorderly warm soup,  a dizzy swirl. You felt viscerally (even without viscera) that to be suddenly  Wormless and Formless was wholly unacceptable.   How does the formless find form?   In your terror, you tried force, you tried will, you tried plans and panic. Alas no, you stayed soupy and droopy.   Then one day, just when you thought  you were ...