Rebecca Connors
St. Bosco's Carnival, Topeka, KS
I am alligator-jawed live-wired
firecrackers sparkling
along my seams. Red-
jacketed monkeys surround me
a rubied arc as you enter the Ring:
Introducing…
the Amazing… Tourniquet!
Unfold your long arms
with a bow that stills
the applause –
and then
wrap them around my body
and then
around again to meet your back.
Knotted. A wink to me
and then, the drum roll
please you squeeze and
my stomach deflates my insides glide
up like an escalator a balloon in my head
about to pop I fall
backwards ragdoll
this is when they go oooooooooh
we cleave to each other
skin to skin. Stars shimmer
in my eyes
my body tells me we're near
the end. Your spotlight-washed
face is always calm
at the edge I can feel
the crowd hunching in. Hold.
Take more
their hush screams like a cavern.
Hold. I sizzle
in the stillness
envisioning inhales. The more
you take. Tighter –
hold.
They're waiting
for my null
breath I'm
waiting
hold
To the Inspector
He never forgave me
for talking
measures my words
in quarts and
inverted lampshades—
I offer up so many
trolleys and dragons
forsythia and sacrosanct
he wields a scalpel
for its thin angry neck
I say, I love you to 100
he slivers words
into letters, shredded
vowels
endurance
syllables discarded
half-eaten apples
I still believe
my words roll mountains
negotiation, nightshade
floating and flexing
against each other
a full bleed
my orange words
silvering this exit
Mary's Land
Her red swimsuit stripes her pale body
like candy cane, and she eats strawberries
daily, fistfuls at least, so her mouth
is red, her teeth are red, her fingernails
red. She plays Putt-Putt alone, knocking her pink
neon golf ball along the matted turf to its lonely
rat-a-tat-tat in the plastic hole. Next door, older boys
play ball against the wall of the 7-11, their shouts
interrupt her idle concentration as they shake off
the Choptank morning, sorting crabs, sweating
out the traps and the hard claws pinching air, while inside,
the manager fidgets with a bouquet of black-eyes,
eating honeydew, snow cones, dollar dogs, watching
for her red swimsuit, though he is not waiting,
to walk past the boys, who were just throwing
their brine into the asphalt, storming the wall,
beaten arms tiny crabs