You
are
Eurydice,
with shadowed
steps escaping
skull-paved paths.
Shallow breaths
behind
my back.
One glance
and you
are
gone
from
me.
Stalls smell of
antiseptic spray
and soap
as I sidestep
into the first
floor bathroom
and let my nose
drain blood
into the toilet.
I staunch the flow
with one-ply paper
until it blooms crimson
and coagulated
ropes snake down
my throat.
Pregnant clots
dislodge and funnel
into my mouth,
falling into
the water like
red yolks.
Boy
puts his hand
out
for Hawk Wasp;
Hawk Wasp
sets
its
spindled legs
in his
palm,
cleans its jaws.
Now,
says Boy to Girl,
let it rest in your hand
like it’s laying for a nap.
Boy
places
Hawk Wasp
in the plush mount
of her hand.
Girl
bites
her lip.
I’m scared.
It feels weird.
I don’t like the way it moves.
Hawk Wasp
snaps
its mandibles
and fans
its frayed wings,
brazen red
in the sun.
Don’t rile him up.
He’ll fly away
and won’t come back.
Girl
is shaking.
I’m not ready.
Get it off.
Boy
sighs, sets
his teeth.
He says,
Stay still
And this will
be
a
lot
easier.
Girl is silent.
Boy
leans
in
and pokes
the gridded case
of Hawk Wasp’s eyes,
pinches its abdomen,
cracks its exoskeleton.
And Hawk Wasp
rears
its hooked
sting sheath,
humming roars.
Girl gasps.
What
is it doing make it stop
I don’t want to
do this.
Boy
licks his teeth.
Watch him pierce your epidermis—
pump his venom sac clean.
Hawk Wasp
enters Girl dry
and rips
out running strings
of blood
and virulent juice.
It hurts,
cries Girl,
It feels like my blood
is being replaced by fire.
Boy’s
biting
his salted
bottom lip
now, tasting
copper blood.
I can tell you like it,
he says.
He
feels
his
loins yearning,
turning,
heating up.
Hawk Wasp
is pushing,
thrusting thick sprays,
kicking
its head back.
Girl
is screaming—
not in a good way.
Her
tears fall,
bead up
on Hawk Wasp.
Hawk Wasp
doesn’t like that, so
withdraws,
crooks its legs akimbo,
fans gusts,
and takes off.
Girl
holds her
hand, limp, paralyzed
up to her wrist.
I think I’m
dying.
Boy stands up
and walks
away.
This happens every time,
he says.
You never think about me.
(O) k a y , I
supp(o)se I
enj(o)y
y(o)ur eyes—
h(o)w they
see thr(o)ugh all my lies,
h(o)w
c(o)rnea cases retina,
h(o)w they
gl(o)ss behind
s(o)ft lids , sink
int(o) caves
(o)f
y(o)ur skull, and—
g(o)(o)d
l(o)rd—
th(o)se
(o)ptic nerves
winding ar(o)und
t(o) the back
(o)f
y(o)ur brain.
Jeffrey Lee Owens is (in descending order of importance) a writer, student, and human being living in central Indiana. When not preoccupied with the endeavors of young adulthood, he devotes himself to becoming a prominent author. You can find his work in Dead Beats Literary Journal, Black Heart Magazine, and on his website: writebymoonlight.tumblr.com.
ISSUE:
W I N T E R
2013-14
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