Once I beat a purple beanbag chair with a toy bat—
I wanted to destroy a memory. The empty
plastic surround-sounded the attic
like a jet hitting supersonic. A thousand bees
flew out & tiny teeth welted my body, unasked.
Bodies dropped. The chair shed its captivity,
reclaimed the shape of air. Gleamed morning-after
vacant. I wondered if we would ever fly free
air felt like a taser. I could pretend we were topaz
confetti marring the ground or stuffing
waiting to fill something else like phantoms
& reincarnation, Elvis sightings & Britney
Murphys lurking in bulimic teen girls. & still the bees.
A thousand wing-holes ooze Red Hots,
scrunchies, & promises, condoms, & action
figures, the earrings I lost when a boy was lost at sea
inside my body. But the memories pressurized, sank
deep in the skin where they had always been,
pressed tight against synthetic, water-
resistant pleather.
