monochrome world. blotches on a bovine. don’t ask a beast
of burden about its abuse. I’d have cows just to butcher them. fingering
puddles of blood like piano keys. dismissing blindness in fury.
my favorite color was red because it was the first one I saw.
when I was a baby, my grandfather gave me my first stuffed animal.
it was a calf. when I was old enough, I named her Little Moo. I’ve had her
all my life, and at times little else. one time, I left her on a lamp
and burned her cheek. she’s never mooed, despite the brown crusts
I still cover with beige bandages. her placid eyes. at least she’s never
judged me. even when I was a boy about his bullshit. denying
wounds. never studying how to dress them. never sharing
the spine-spiking weight with others. knew you weren’t like the others
when we met at Aslan Brewing. neither of us liked beer. I stared
at your butt every time you left your seat for the bathroom,
hoping you’d look back. a butcher values prime cuts. seasoning
you with sight. but seriously, I never saw you as a piece
of meat. I saw you then and haven’t stopped since. haven’t wanted
to see anything else since that night, when you guessed my favorite color
was green. when you told me why, I wanted to care for you,
to carry you forever. seeing in my stead not a beast or burden
but gardener. still the tatters of the butcher’s apron. bleaching blood
to no avail. your active and forgiving eyes. they study my shaking hands
that pinch pine-needles. still learning to sow sutures. when you saw
Little Moo, you said she needed a companion. on our third date
we bought stuffed animals. you wanted us to have elephants because
they never forget. perhaps I will never forget the bleeding, the circus
of carcasses, hanging by hooks. but when you drape yourself to me,
apron-tight, and your bangs curtain my widow’s peak, I’ve got
an attire. salvation. my fortunes: salt and silk. pollen-stars populating
mossy mountainsides. mists that glisten leaves hanging on branches
well as the ones that have fallen.
we keep a journal of all our firsts and favorites, fern-green binding
the covers. the first time we ventured a meadow, we made a beast
with two backs,
surrounded by sun-bathing wolves, howls serenading
me into
surrender.
the first time I said I love you, what I really meant
was that I’ve been killing all my life for this. the first time I saw green,
I didn’t deserve it.
but your force found me—forgiveness in form
of trumpeting jade elephants, sunflowers bowing to kiss shamrocks, vines cuddling
your forehead like a wedding veil—calls of the wild
remind me that I am human, that we are
chrysalis, that wolves
howl to hone location
and cows moo
when desperate for a mate. when I think of you, I grin in silence. guzzling green. from my gums,
leaves sprout. cocoons round canines.
when I think of you
I am imprinted. I am already
found—
falling feet-first into seafoam, the waves of mint.
when you bought me an elephant, I named it Pen.
when I pick up a pen, I write
towards a wild forever.