Beth Ann Fennelly – Ⅳ
The Mommy at the Zoo
I used to sleep better I used to
be smarter remember for example words
and remember when I learned them
there was a word for example
for the way a snake loves
a tight place a crevice a chink in rocks
now the word won’t answer
though my daughter knocks
the python sleeps tight in his glass hut
the word has slipped
my mind between a rock
and a hard place
Mr. Snake you
you are a . . .
a something-o-phile
O you sneaky . . .
something-o-phile . . .
I rummage
but the word
is nowhere no
where in my diaper bag
among the handiwipes and gummibears
sippiecups of Juicyjuice
crayons slinky and cow-that-goes-moo
before I was a Mommy
say 4 or 5 years or
decades ago I could think in complete
sentences remember all
my favorite words like the one
about loving the tight fit which I did
in the French Quarter
where the hot rain rained down
in the alley beside the bar
where I was bolted against the iron gate
by Tommy’s hard cock
hot rain falling on my upswung face
each vertebra fenced
in the tic-tac-toe grid
each vertebra X-ed
on a treasure map
bezel set what a night
for a girl forged of carbon
all bone and saxophone
notes bouncing to her
through the hot drops of rain
who was she
that fresh squeezed girl
just temporarily out of her mind
if it’s true as they say
that I am now
that same she
the word I seek
would come slithering
find a chink and wriggle in
like the small child up ahead
darting through scissors
of grown up legs
her silhouette
in red exit light
slow down I’m coming wait
wait up
I used to sleep better I used to
be smarter remember for example words
and remember when I learned them
there was a word for example
for the way a snake loves
a tight place a crevice a chink in rocks
now the word won’t answer
though my daughter knocks
the python sleeps tight in his glass hut
the word has slipped
my mind between a rock
and a hard place
Mr. Snake you
you are a . . .
a something-o-phile
O you sneaky . . .
something-o-phile . . .
I rummage
but the word
is nowhere no
where in my diaper bag
among the handiwipes and gummibears
sippiecups of Juicyjuice
crayons slinky and cow-that-goes-moo
before I was a Mommy
say 4 or 5 years or
decades ago I could think in complete
sentences remember all
my favorite words like the one
about loving the tight fit which I did
in the French Quarter
where the hot rain rained down
in the alley beside the bar
where I was bolted against the iron gate
by Tommy’s hard cock
hot rain falling on my upswung face
each vertebra fenced
in the tic-tac-toe grid
each vertebra X-ed
on a treasure map
bezel set what a night
for a girl forged of carbon
all bone and saxophone
notes bouncing to her
through the hot drops of rain
who was she
that fresh squeezed girl
just temporarily out of her mind
if it’s true as they say
that I am now
that same she
the word I seek
would come slithering
find a chink and wriggle in
like the small child up ahead
darting through scissors
of grown up legs
her silhouette
in red exit light
slow down I’m coming wait
wait up
