Beneath magnolia branches, she joins me—

in this fragrant flurry, this rain of pests

and plumes: roaches, petals, inky feathers.

Removing the wicker lid, her lithe hands

rummage while insects scram; above us, crows

continue preening. Stroke by gentle stroke.

Her butter knife, now slick with jam, glides across

a flaky wafer. Stretching her mouth wide

to take a bite, she splits her lower lip.

Then, drop by bloody drop, she taints the jam.

With the back of her hand, she wipes her mouth

then eyes the smear. Those corvids caw. Licking

clean her skin, the lady smiles and stirs more

drops into the jar. Her tongue slides along

the blade. The murder flies, those branches shake;

their falling twigs batter against my head.

She packs away her gory snack; she pats

away my sting—then leaves. Hungry roaches

crawl in to search for scraps. These bugs return

for scraps! Perhaps she will return for me—

***

Ryan Mayer (he / him) is a poet and writer native to New Orleans, Louisiana. Ryan graduated Loyola University New Orleans with a BA in English (creative writing) and received his MFA from The University of New Orleans.