Eloisa Amezcua

AUBADE

we lack a selvage 

             somewhere in sleep
                             our cells died

             bones and tissue pooled
in the mattress
             but we unravel

                       at the margins
             unstitch the seams
until we’ve found

             fragments of flesh
                       ready to be made
             whole again

careless undoers
             untanglers of threads
                       we mend the frayed edges

              piece by piece
to a semblance
              of perfection

                       this morning
              we fabricate each
other into being

AFTER SYLVIA PLATH

how can anyone write about bees

but because the bathroom fan at the motel
             in Killington buzzes so loud

the constant hum while I shower

I face the faucet
             my fear   my fear   my fear

a swarm will come and it does
every drop stings        I have no protection

little bees melt into this body
reddening

the iron smell of water like blood
fills nostrils and drink

yes
              I drink

savage mouthfuls      tiny creatures
            slice my throat

I swallow
lather splattered insects and scentless soap

from my ugly wrists to torso
and he waits outside the locked door

a pressed shirt
                           another wedding another suit

grey water pools past itchy ankles
I open my mouth spit out

the progeny  the wings

INCIDENT
(click to read)

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Eloisa Amezcua is an Arizona native. She recently finished her MFA at Emerson College and works in Cambridge, MA. She’s received scholarships from the NY State Summer Writers Institute, the Bread Loaf Translator’s Conference and the Vermont College of Fine Arts Post-Graduate Workshop. Find her at www.eloisaamezcua.com.