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LAGNIAPPE

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Poem
by Alissa Carrier


flash memory (flash mem-o-ry) n. a programmable read-only computer memory chip that can be erased and reprogrammed in blocks rather than one byte at a time

byte 1011:
Since I couldn’t find
a shortcut, I walked five miles
through an open field, your clearing.
In the tall finesse of weeds, a finger
leaning against a stick, almost
erect as if sprouting
which reminded me to send
that belated sympathy card.

byte 1012:
When I was ten, I convinced
my best friend to hike with me
through your so-called dense forest.
In a clearing, a circle of trees
and a stump where she rested hours
waiting for me to take off her panties.
There was always something about her
I just couldn’t put on.

byte 1013:
If there is only one god, he grows
acorn by acorn, such pinky increments.
Last night, when you lead me
out back through the clearing
into the heavy dark
to reveal his blossoming, I thought it
more butchery.  All I remember
grows red.

byte 1020:
Who could guess the stomach
would be the first to nudge us
out of bed. Flapjack!
When I ask what you’d like
for breakfast, you say waffle
but mean bacon.  Sitting down
to eat the table, you chow
on the whole damn kitchen.  

byte 1021:
We praised the bacon
by refrigerating its grease
in a container fit for a king. 
Maybe the pig more like a genie,
rubbing all tupperwared sides.

byte 1300:
The day spread like frost-
ed layer cake and then crumbled.
Little pieces of sky stuck
in trees. I picked bits out of leaves
like one might at a scab.
From my perspective across the street
in the branches, I held
his house in my palm
and then crushed it. 

byte 1301:
I dream of orbits.

byte 1548:
I delay the moving.
Consider the verbs pack
and unpack, tape and
unpack and hang and
unpack smooth.  Now
think of house and home
and dog and cat and room
as rough.  Tie them together.

byte 1547:
For an extra two feet
of space, we are moving
across the street to the house
of the fighting couple, appropriately
named house-sticks-fist-in-wall
by my girlfriend’s daughter. 
She will paint her room a perfect pink.
Our bedroom blue, the hallway sits yellow,
while the kitchen defers its red.

byte 1651:
How to please:
eight glasses of water
sugar rimmed glasses
latex gloves and glue
glittery cardboard crowns
swing

byte 00:
<erased>

byte 5:
It is permissible to speak of lips
as if they are the only predictable
beautiful. Hers moved
on when I wasn’t looking
justlikethis or justlikethat.
ta da! she said while pulling
them--garnet and glossy--from the hat.