Last night, an old man forced me to smile,
as if my face were no more than a furious,
sticky envelope, a Venus fly trap. Think
of the closing view – the dark, the blackout,
the feel of tongue over teeth. Some scissor-
jaws become ivory. Me, you, the carnivore,
the lucky green -- all are hiding and hiding
and seeking. Somewhere, a thick elephant
herd, an extended family, carries on. Now
afraid, they dance together, turning up dust.
Wrinkles vice-grip those eyes. Black. Creases.
The kind, huge hearts. A wise mother lifts
her trunk, telling baby, Careful, remember,
this season, the mean flies, the hollow, fast sticks
come out.
C.A. MacConnell
