Pisciaude

Creaturely life hung heavy
Where I came up
Even books crawled on bellies and knees,
reaching for us with long arms, pulling
us into their murky ponds and lakes,
Their continents.

Our dogs were dusty with dirt and dead leaves
The bees stung sharp on our fat kid limbs

Our grandmother’s skin was slack,
Smelled of garlic and Ivory soap
her apron wet from sink and stove
where string beans simmered

The babies pisciaude, the nights long
The skin between us so moist and soluble
we passed back and forth, into each
other, not to lose our place in either

Even my father’s truck clanging up the driveway
heavy with iron, more animal than vehicle.

 

Pisciaude a diaper so heavy with piss that it has that intense, acrid smell of urine.