Fragments
Amy LeBl a nc
Nectar drains from her hips
an apple on the highest branch,
an apricot in the shape of an ear.
You never know who might listen.
She is a collector of scarlet stains
with fragments of skin,
skinned knees, skinned elbows,
skinned legs that begin to swell with fur
for the winter weeks.
They expected her to purr,
to break a membrane made from caul
on the body of a boy who built her to bend
against wooden parts and alcohol.
The well water swells and overflows with seeds.
She bleeds,
and bleeds,
and bleeds.
Red as apple skin against the linen of her tunic.
When the bleeding ends,
she turns to the boy with his wooden limbs
and transforms him into fruit, crisp and tart,
for the birds and the boys to peck at in the heat.
19
Cauldron Anthology