Soft Wax
She wants to make
a figure of herself
in soft wax
the consistency
of Vaseline
but firm enough that if
you dug your
finger into it
gouged with the nail
you could peel some out and
the hollow
would hold form but the
wax would stay wet
she’s heard adding Crisco
makes it soft
and greasy but if
she takes it to
Marie Laveau’s Candle
Bodega
for the faithful or
the odd tourist
the lard in the body
could ignite
and the whole image
burst into flames
Grasslands
He gives her
a vegetable wine
steaks from the haunches of
she decides not
to ask what
she’ll be the next course
stretched taut underneath him
serving up her
rawest part
she wonders what kind
of girl flesh she’s made of
what savanna
what veldt her
foremothers wandered
thighs pitted by fine sand
hips and ribs scarred
from crouching
among sawtoothed blades
in parched grasslands for the
all clear signal
they’ll meet where
she keeps vigil at
the water hole
some there now will be gone
by morning
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