qarrtsiluni

Thigh to thigh on the slip-covered couch,
your legs scissored closed like the ladder

I trespassed through the neighbor’s yard
before detention dismissed you later home.

Robin’s call two days absent from the clotted
roof gutter nest. I wanted to see how another life

begins. The TV hisses between channels.
Your faded Levis I’d soon fill out myself.

Cool corrugated grip of the tallest rung turning
awkward as a zipper’s deliberate downward cleaving.

Two pale blue eggs: the heavy leaf-litter must
of something abandoned. I wanted to be shown

what my body would become. Such slight
pressure, this fingernail digging in. The first egg

gives easily, thumb shattering through.
Should I say you taught me this? To take you

in my mouth and let you grow there? How
suddenly an afternoon changes light. Your knee

floors hard against belt buckle. The second egg
opens across the driveway’s gritty tongue.

I see your skin has broken — a crescent impression
welling the blood-purple half-circle of some poor

embryo, only three exposed heartbeats remain.
The TV focuses its dimming pinpoint eye

as we empty the living room. Between two
fragile halves: that slick amber yolk relaxing

outward, darkening the sparkling gravel.

by Brent Goodman

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