Aubade with Eating Terribly in Winter – Benin Gardner

All English words beginning with the letter Q are followed by the letter U
Quaint, quiet, quail egg so small it could perch on the lurching soft of a clit 
yolk would drop soundlessly into a dish of vinegar and float
I was sad to leave that morning, urea blood smell bacon from Montreal,
saw a fern uncurled from the snow and felt the same
We ate terribly in winter, bacon bread and potatoes like wartime
She brings me water after in a plastic cup
All English words beginning with the letter Q are followed by the letter U, I say in the grocery store
That’s true she says then it’s quiet and we’re leaning over the salad selection like watching fish in a pond
Cobb with boiled egg and ranch, water maybe lemonade
I like to have a milkshake after while the hairpins punish my scalp
During barre Ms. Logan tells us about her Diet Coke and cigarettes phase
Winter in Chicago like a real ballerina
my heart lumps with longing
I looked so stupid in those tights and liked to have a milkshake after
During sex I get a Charlie horse like I used to after Nutcracker
Back when we had the skulls of saints, saints in old red paintings, huddled in a wooly droop
Filling the red curtain with a perfect sound like horses before a race
You’re doing whippits, massive gray hoodie, oblivion another hole to crawl into
Grandma Kathy makes a turkey sandwich after Thanksgiving in the cold brick 
in the next room I was a little rabbit in the snow
and I wanted to be chased by bad foxes
You were called a faggot by some woman on the bus, it moves along you like a drag of ants
(When does it ever let up for you, I wondered)
I was a mean little rabbit and loved to be chased
We played footsie in black socks while that girl’s snatch grew fangs on screen
On my stomach, giving a fuck about Kafka, collapse in a wet circle 
Once my father made me watch a Reading Rainbow episode about death, an old badger walked alone through a long tunnel
The house was big, the house was cold with wind from holes in the brick
You made a mess of it, turkey sandwich
I could be a saint of the backseat where sunset happens
I could be the mess in your mouth taking forever to die, while my father stands behind me
While for the badger time passed from brown to black
The best part of ballet was grand allegro
All the legs got slippery, yearning muscle, baby’s nose on glass, rose budded sickle blue
We might say it ended there, seam scar where my butcher twined me
You wrote to me on a postcard, miss your hot cross bun
I hate the way you make it funny, you hate me when I’m serious, too serious
It is serious to be a rabbit
It was warm in our warren and I wanted to be buried
I dream the teeth pussy movie and make it better,
I am a wonderful director in my dream
I employ the male gaze because I want you in a way that is totally unrighteous
I kill my ingenue and everyone is shocked by their own delight
Dark winter latches us shut upon each other
Swimming pool we let multiply with fish until we are the fish and have nothing to eat
The spring sun bends the path 
What evil twins the bed
Easter colors make me sick
Alcohol softens me to a doll girl feeling
Where are my polly pocket shoes
My plastic telephone, headache, bellyache, belly up in the green wood
A boy’s hands in fists around my ankles
Once I let you punch me in the face, just over there
Took a ride in your car to Chicago, collected myself from the fantasy of grabbing the steering wheel, pulling us through the highway like a hairbrush
A horse was pregnant, just over there, a casino of roadkill on the tarmac
In truth, I do care about green river floats with blue moon ice cream, your first word 
I earned a shamrock shake today, Ms. Logan confesses over us, her shivering cage of rabbits
Your mom sent me an email after I was gone
I love Faulkner’s portmanteaus, fecundmellow, droopeared, daygranaried 
I put my two fingers in a foxglove flower, just over there, and let you watch me 
Not speaking like the badger 
We know death is simple like a hole.