The Shadow of His Sainthood Was Briefly Visible
Timothy in frame
and loosestrife and woodsorrel.
a blue man we call St. Eater, since
he has only been seen on neighborhood
security cams shoveling our gardens into
mouth and once stopping
two separate burglaries in one month.
Fast forward ►►
St. Eater works the witching hours
eating through our oleanders and spathiphyllum
his hair tied back
breath that dirty 5AM style
cleaning rows of garden stalks back into his mouth.
the order of the flowers must matter to someone
once. It was a whole language and St. Eater
is trying to tell us something.
That’s what my husband thinks when we review the tape
There is no audio track on the tape.
The automatic sprinklers wetten the saint
and he rubs himself
and maybe that’s what did it. When compiling
the footage I don’t think that’s happened before
the world became less blue
and the hanging baskets became empty
and the birds became murders
the maw of April 11th, 2011 opened
and the wind whistled. Waking
early to trace the light and shade
for a school project
about shadows, my son leaves our house
composition notebook my son forked catchfly
clumped dirt mist overalls laurestina
st. eater shoelaces porch light sweet pea
Joshua exits frame right at 06:22:11
St. Eater at 06:22:19
I have not seen my son since, and
the cops are still looking for a corpse or St. Eater
After that morning, the local beekeeper says,
the queen’s workers always quivered in our gardens.
Both in Yellow Garb with Tattoos of Luchadores on Their Arms
Smurf was one of my friends who
always talked about how much sex
his mother was getting.
We were proud of our families and
but mostly our families.
We watched the clown-eye of Irma click
further up the world and
Smurf said when it hits, that’d be our cue.
years is forever here.
We were just kids.
(What would you be for Halloween?)
(When do you get
(Do you remember
the face of the other boy?)
I agreed to Smurf’s
plan so he stole what we needed
and we talked
through the bars
with flimsy mirrors, our faces
The night before:
I dreamt of kissing Smurf
and his mother
We go down and
out down and down: steam
Smurf and I heaving
the weight off.
I can’t count the length of showers
I’ll take when I’m dry and thoughtless
The land is as thin and bright-dark
as a glossy calendar.
noising the midground.
off. Smurf cracks
knuckles the way you
do when you’re leaving
and never coming back.
(I’ll sing you happy
birthday) I want to
whisper, (with your mother,
when you’re eighteen.)
And the mirror of the new
world takes me.