Jun 10, 2014

My Amaryllis

Written by Martha Silano

Read by James Everett

That’s how your pulpy sex undoes me—Deborah Digges

And this is how the scarlet macaw alights
at my kitchen window, National Bird

of Honduras—swooping in from a hot, wet
country most murderous. Squawking

like an engorged organ, a four-chambered heart,
squealing like a nerve pinched till it palsies

one side of a face, tomato dripping from lunch’s lips.
Squeaking over the measuring cups, the silverware,

this pumping, two-story muscle, with busy, brainless
burst; of a long plunge into a long-ago mouth,

where the tongues are littered with lilting harmless lies,
where the gums say lust, where the gizzard’s spritzed

to a brink-ish bliss, this bullhorn blossom belting out
a cardinal’s worth of sorrow, capacity to blurt. Most

crimson capillary of brake-lit streets, cocktail party
maraschino cherry seizure, all the neon up and down

Rainier: OPEN, BOSS, BUD. Beasty bloom, rasp of blush,
monkey’s rump, signature and siren, semaphoric salute.

It was all so 26,000 light years away, fuzzy like a crime scene,
then that aortic accuracy: overly-lipsticked, 50+ in ruby-

sequined heels, halo frayed, trumpets erect, come
strutting like some middle-aged lush going under

to be severed. Murder on the Marmoleum, all this pedaled,
sanguine evidence, this other-side-of-the-universe daughter

perplexed — asking why and how, asking will I be next.

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