Antoinette’s Annotated Anecdotes

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011 Under: Poetry
Antoinette’s Annotated Anecdotes

Saturday nights
full of needless blurbs
her pen moves like a spasmodic compass needle
over composition booklet lying willingly on a grassy pillow;
an ancient Indian forest platform of a bed
complete with assorted streams, ecosystemics,
the basic nature building skills (BNBS)
through post it notes (they’re useful at times)
midnight snack marathons
a parakeet’s affectionate squawk for added warmth

there’s a pitter patter of spider feet
it sounds like they’re synchronizing the Miranda Rights
for Gandhi if he was arrested on the eve of his daughter’s wedding
an excited chatter ensues, and their prickly fingertips
climb up the apartment staircase in bridge formation
vines of henchmen upon henchmen, understanding that
cooperation is the only option - or we can remain attic dwellers
says the distant chrysalis

Her heartstrings form the threads they weave
spinning in circles, they wrap her ventricle in a webby knot
(so she can cocoon for undisclosed amount of time and emerge
butterfly emeritus of middle class caste feminism)
indian housewife is not her fate! They hiss in identical pitch
they would invest in her heart, profiteering immensely
from the cold, dark place it had become (it’s a seasonal thing, as is everything)

but… there was another body in the house
of dying intimacy - sliding into bed when convenient
thick necked, a financial snake by habit
like an anaconda, he slipped into the Egyptian silk
the spiders protested! Oh, they protested alright
leaping onto the snake together and all at once
(unspecified if they were leaping spiders, but,
determination can make insects defy physics, she supposes)
the spiders shriek as the anaconda bears fangs
and strikes them out of the air like a hydra’s popcorn
(slightly reminiscent of that time
she threw expensive dishes at him)
an epic tale from the Mahabharata
plays out on the kitchen floor
in the end, they fight gallantly
leaving the anaconda’s scales bloody
but for the most part, unscathed

he slips back in,
clamps his jaw down onto the nape of her neck
injects warm venom, exhales into her soft velvet skin
her eyes light up
like red jasmine thrown into the frying pan
eyelids stay mooched over
(love is blinding and can
equally qualify as a sealant)

the next morning,
she rises from the steamy lagoon
unholy sunlight beams down onto a brachial wasteland
of arachnid limbs and a smorgasbord of very small eyeballs
(NOTE: the venom in their bodies,
when combined, forms the antidote)

She retrieves a pot and boils water.

In : Poetry 

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