Monday Mar 27

April-Manteris.jpg April Manteris is originally from Slidell, Louisiana.  She currently works and writes in Tallahassee, FL.

How We Love
Sunny capital of oversexed flies
            and homeless motherfuckers,
                        depression of porn shops
and pine, gulf-hugging armpit—baby,
this is where you built a bridge
                       to your assassin,
determined as the moth stuck
between two screens,
willing as pink hibiscus
flowering every day in a burnt yard,
I have been in this house
where, you say,
you have coddled him, where light,
like cockroaches,
shifts and scurries,
I imagine you in his kitchen, stuffing
yourself on grits and drop
biscuits, a desperate
Gretel loving him more each time
he stews your heart.
                        I have overeaten
at love’s table, scraped against boarded
            up windows and locksmithed
                        locks. I know
the shape of your puncture and I can
            show you how
                        to celebrate grief:
think how all the teeth in a little girl’s
mouth will leave her,
how the woman
on Monroe slackens her jaw every day
below birds who sit fat
and buzzing
on power-lines, how mothers rarely abandon
their children—here
            the closest river
will always be the Mississippi. These nights
are nothing. The moon’s
a smart beggar,
but collapsible as a salt-lick on fire. 
Tomorrow may come
without him,
but after that, I swear, it’ll just keep coming.