
Bloom
He drives his family along the Delaware coast
to a house near Slaughter Beach.
Kids are restless, everyone hungry,
towns crawl by – Killens Pond, Big Hook, Slaughter Neck.
A stealth mosquito trapped in the car
hungrily bites in the stale air.
I’m enveloped in damp, in my apartment
Naked, sweat rolls down my spine.
In the garden I am just as wet.
Reciting under my breath the towns he will pass –
Big Hook, Slaughter Neck, Old Furnace, Little Heaven.
I’m bitten once, twice, many times over
absently scratching my leg til it bleeds.
Bitten hard by him I will bruise
The pain is fleeting, wild, hungry.
Blood under my skin, sweat on my back.
Insect bites from his journey fade quickly, disappear.
His bites on me bloom, purple to green, brown, yellow.
I check their progress daily, longing for each to stay.
His wild gifts to me.
He doesn’t know – pain will seep into his week,
Scraped by rocks, eyes burned from salt, swollen.
Injuring and re-injuring his back.
I don’t know – after his return we will fight
Tense short words and long silences,
Heavy air seeping from the phone.
Roughened skin catching on sheets, on each other.
Abraded, grinding, saturated with sweat.
My hair in his fist,
his lip between my teeth, soft enough to tear.
My fingers slide up his neck,
circle his jaw,
Squeeze.
Children scream in play through my window.
Damp between my legs when I place him on his train home.
Tears burn my eyes, strangers push close.
Teeth edge my lip, press in till it bleeds.
Silently new bruises paint themselves on my breasts.
Next morning in the steaming bathroom,
They show themselves, and I smile.
I will track them carefully, purple to green, brown, yellow.
If I cut them back, he will grow me more.