I threw an American hatchet
at a splintered chair.
With a crack,
I broke the horizon in half.
You caught a brown snake, with a red lid.
Gardner urine soured your hand.
I’ll never put salad in that ever again.
You scurried for a whiskered cricket,
So I could feed their meat to our tarantula,
Watch her black legs arch slow.
When we discovered the poison ivy
in your elbow,
There were teardrops of fireflies.
So I rubbed steroid cream
until you dreamed.
But the poison ivy spread to my inner thighs,
From whispers in our night-blue bed.
I left my cocaine city life for you
To discover, I’m not dead.
The poison and the creatures
and the violence of love
thread me into this beautiful life.
Author: Emily Viall
Link to social media: Instagram @viallemily
