My Love for Nature

All this tall grass has ruined my gold

acrylic nails & I know something’s dead

just beyond my window. I grew up

with rats running my floorboards

& know the smell straining from a body

once caught in a trap. In the city

what little I have of an ass

is always out, a simple wind blow

from Marilyn Monroe-ing the street.

Here, in all this nature, there is nobody

but me & my 5 friends for a week

& I promised myself I’d be naked

but the first day I found a tick

clinging to my arm hair for dear

life & decided no way I’m exposing

my pussy to the elements. My love

for nature is like my love for most things:

fickle & theoretical.

Too many bugs & I want a divorce.

Last week, before I was here

my uncle drove me from our city

to the suburbs & sang “Project Chick”

in the car. When we parked

he asked me to take off my shoes

& there we walked, silent, barefoot

circling the lake, trying to not step

in goose shit.

He walked in front & I trailed behind

both our hands clasped behind our backs.

    When you were my daughter,

My love for the past is like my love

for most things. I only feel it when

I’m gone. Best to stay gone

so I’m always in love. If I look

at something too long it forgets

its joy. All the floorboards carry

death. My gold nails are fake

& chipped. My bare feet skirt the shit.