Oh-Oh. O, Mercy, Mercy Me

elegy for a jellyfish collector

We could not bury them all
between my teeth. This is how I've learned to let murderers
on my cheek, the lift of blue, and my mother’s soapy skin--
my mother was good.
When the plastic spoon fumbles
from salt water and the semi-acidic punch of mangoes
I pant, yellowing undershirts and frilled pink.
.......................................................................................................................
snakecharmer's bag

Charmer with the hung belly, you hungry
this morning? Black smoke, the neighbor’s maimed dog--
covetous possession, eschewed greedy.
Attendants who wipe carefully along
break in a thousand hotel sinks--after the soap, the rub--
can she belong to what she is kissing?
I'll take burlap and cashmere, the slack.

~aimee