Biolumina, and: Calling Just to Say, and: Animalia, and: Expecting, and: Us, Retrograde

Abstract

Biolumina, and: Calling Just to Say, and: Animalia, and: Expecting, and: Us, Retrograde Babette Cieskowski (bio) Biolumina Sunrise, Florida In Sunrise, I wanted youonly once, sitting on the softrotting pier, legs dangling likebait in the wind. Looking down,I wondered what would get to mefirst—some black-eyed omenwith teeth like mine, stainedand crooked like a car crash,some white-tipped, ancient thingwith a taste for something pink.I welcomed it, wanted the saltand pulse to chew me into somethingnew, to take me to a place wherevision is revised, tailored to thrivein darkness. I thought of youonly once, swimming the seafloor,watching the scraps from abovesink to the bottom like snow. Calling Just to Say I'm trying to drink more tea, trying to calm the horseblood in my veins—keep things on an even keel. [End Page 109] I'm trying to talk to you, to tell you that, despitedistance and pain—yes, I still refuse to pay for haircuts, still refuse the bagboy's help, still take one too manyfree samples, hoard stacks of thin brown napkins from the corner coffee shop. No, my hairwill never be even. I still find peace in my high school mantra: female Kurt Cobain. Yes, I'm oldand adolescent, still holding on to the time when our hair was the same shade of red,lurid and endless as the neon sign at the bar I wasn't allowed to touch. No, no new tattoos.Yes, I remember your confession, though I still don't know why, at sixteen, I needed to know of a kiss that meant nothing,but meant enough to keep it a secret. I remember your words exactly: A woman's secret can tilt the world.Yes, he treats me right, says he wants to keep me, as if I was a jewel, something precious, lost, histo be found. Yes, I'm happier now, yes, I know I'm losing time, yes, I'll find a job, eventually,but no, still no talk of children. [End Page 110] Animalia Everything bites.vievee francis You tell me it's all a matter of creation, the beliefthat all things come from something else,that our song is shaped from radiance, from pride. You tell mefacing it is the easy part. You hold the wishbone to this pairing. Tell me of your theory, that a clean kill is bestfor small prey, the kind that bleed with a sly grace,the intimacy of a dull blade, the meat hangingfrom my teeth. Clean, precise—as if to sayI know you. You know my reasons. You hold the flint that sparks our endgame,as if a fire could guide us back again, as ifthe path is the same trail, abandoned—still and patientwith desire. We watch the crowning mother push and breakin silence. If only the sound could shift, like pain. Expecting I said it wasn't a joke, as in, the worry had boiled over—some dark weight unable to push through the veil,some unforeseen settling. I spoke as if I knewthe answer, some forgotten prayer we learned [End Page 111] as children, before we knew ourselves. I feel like I am,but I'm not. He said he wouldn't know until it cameto be: violence or full collapse. He'd punch his fistinto his chest, bruise in celebration, some budding territorial seed.He'd ask about the timing, the when and why not. Or maybeI wouldn't tell him—bear this pink weight alone. Us, Retrograde For B-Juice I gave her my right slipper, told her to keep it, wear it home.I wrapped my foot in a Publix bag, went to sophomore physics, watched their faces turn vicious, their eyessliding to my toes. What the fuck is wrong with you? I thought of gravitational pulls, how much I'd weigh on the moon,thought of the multiverse, a second self. I wondered if she'd be there too, her blue sweater, turquoise with an aqua trim,how...