Christine Perry

BESTIARY

PUBLISHED IN FOLIO 2023: VOL. 38.

Finding the dried dandelion still tucked behind my ear a week later

Remembering that to bite the stem tastes like poison

Lining the floorboards with their yellow heads
tails twisted together behind them in barricade
like myths of scorpions snakes centipedes toads spiders –
keeping evil out

People love to talk and talk
about things left on the body
ink on fingers
food at the corners of mouths or caught between beard hairs
the yellowing of teeth from years of tea-stained mornings

Stories passed down will tell us that an infant born
still in their caul will possess a form of magic

and my mother would tell me she felt the same
as they cut holes in the thin veil covering my nostrils
allowing me to take my first breath

In the 4th grade I thought I died alone on the playground
snapping between my teeth the bitter dandelion’s stem

Seeing photographs of other infants born still in their sack surrounded by mucus
I know that I am less so the blessing than the beast

I am the ugly brother
face pressed and warped

I am the ugly brother
trapping myself in a clear box waiting to see if I scurry and hide
watching to see if I’ll dance

I am the ugly brother
silent silent about things left on my body

I am wearing the flower earrings mother bought me
trying to keep the evils out

I am laughing at the story of the dandelion
I am telling the tales of my living compendium