Danielle Pafunda

 

 

Nailed into the Mantle, the Wool Unravels

 

Zorba might argue that, for the third time in a year, I had

become hysterically pregnant. Indeed, might I. Here

is my handle, and spout. Lay off it, might she, and might I

take my belly out from under the coverall. The crawl.

 

Later, she would return from the market with an extension cord.

For hanging the chandelier. In a bucket out to sea, she might.

Hum. In a brisket, in as much. All the while in an afghan,

knitting my own tether, lashing one plum to the next, the next

to a wad from a sheaf.

 

It was, in the interim, a very happy Christmas.

 


The Pinned-Up Nurse

 

Ahem. Zorba. You’d better look at this. Your clorox

has come full circle. I parse defeat. I halo painstakingly

for shore.

 

I could only think in small pieces!

I could not speak in first person! The copper wire

strung!

From my armpit, a personality exam, a pelvic

diatribe.

 

Long distance, Zorba attempted a natural selection. He spoke

in tubal sequence. Sequins. His halter made the line buzz.

The fabulist fixed the plumbing, and fixed ‘er good.

 


Building a Nest, the A-Z

 

I was so jacked up on vitamins, I proceeded straight through

the caution door. Permeated. The metal bar and the alarm

signature. Zorba had made me a wig of chocolate and stray.

He had applied a kohl liner to my various tendons and various

points of pressure.

 

The subtleties of the courtyard lit up one by one, drowning out

the pinkish grotto in its every corner.

 

I was so K-O’d, so tanked, so regal, furtive, dormant, a champ.

I was so full of vitamin mash and protein.

 

Zorba would later find the stain on the pale wool carpet,

behind the grandfather clock. He would be righting the dust

and distributing the bleach. His proper scrub brush narrow

at the head and ergonomic in the hand.

 

 

Tangled in the Linens, the Cold Sweat

 

In the hamstring, Zorba, I drafted that tightness. My blinds

a twisty gray and the lino clumped and dander. Despite

the fog of wealth in clay. Despite the articulate scavenge.

A proper "red dress."

 

Burial.

 

The flare in my arm as an ant hill will, and I called you

to drain it. To procure and package the tool of hollowing.

Hallowing. Sheepish.