god loved the world so he peopled it. god got hungry so he grabbed a rib and
some BBQ sauce. god got horny so he cooked the rib into woman. this is how we
we are made in sudden fever. just in time for rutting season, which is also hunting
season. which is how a bambi happens. little orphan bambi, you must learn to be
buoyant. you must learn to dodge bullets in balletic ascension.
we would water cracked leaves to quiet floors for you. our estrogens are always
putting us out on limbs like this. how small can you make your caring? can you
care for the tick on your flank? bambi, this is why we love you.
the tigers we imported
are padding around their fresh enclosure
we've bred them to purr at a special frequency
one that reminds us of womb noises
these sounds comb our organs
tell us our architecture is sound
we've bred them so their mouths won't water
we leave lock and key within their reach
they are happy here in their small orbits
every day gleams within the painted fence
we enjoy the controlled climate and perennial blooms
we hold their claws against our clavicles
and nothing shatters
there is hardly anything left
I never told you
Sarah Jean Grimm works at Penguin Random House and, with Zoe Dzunko, edits the online journal Powder Keg. Her poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Barrow Street, Coconut, The Lifted Brow, Painted Bride Quarterly, Similar:Peaks::, Sixth Finch, & elsewhere. She lives in Brooklyn, New York.