published in Volume 2, Issue 3 on May 21, 1995
"As yet I have not found a single terrestrial animal which can fertilize itself." - Charles Darwin then she gets up and tells me all she wants is a cigarette and maybe a cold glass of water and where do I keep the damned cups in this place anyway? on the counter next to the sink, but to me we'd just had sex and I loved it but she was so uncomfortable and for all her years more than me and experience I probably hurt her or embarrassed her or disgusted her because now she's walking around my apartment when just two minutes ago I was inside her and maybe it wasn't sex at all and we just fucked, and I always thought women wanted to cuddle afterwards and men were the insensitive ones and then why am I sill laying here breathless while she's more or less in routine just like she was a hooker not the girl that I've known for almost a month- Everything turns backwards as she slowly clothes herself, zipper up, button up, tucks everything in, and I think I get the hint because I get up to pee and suddenly I feel so cold being naked and put on some underwear and a t-shirt that my mom just mailed me from up north. It's not even past midnight and she's halfway through the door, her features exaggerated by the light that the moon and lamps both pour- Only halfway out the door because she remembers that she left something behind and this sends her eyes through my apartment too see something, skipping over me. Tapping like drums or like hard fingernails on polished tables, beats my heart through thick jailhouse rails, and some mystery suggests that maybe evolution is not in the slick pyramids of Giza, but in the terraced steps of the mastabas, or tombs in Mexico, or neither. Fighting, crying to be born, the Earth was shattered and torn, by lightning, rain, and thunder storm- in that same mold my life is formed, hinting only that maybe the absence of, say, thunder might inhibit our birth from water, from under the sea where we emerged and began, but one ingredient spoiled and then . . . What becomes of this Earth, my life? Like it was never commanded, "Let there be Light!". Some repression of what would make me mature, closure - my bitterness as she closes the door.