another side of paradise

What does it mean to survive with a love 

So kind? So gentle? So simple? So so so so—

The fly beckons at me, 

dead, from the side table,

lit by the overnight lamp, its own wake, 

as if to say: This is what I can give 

you. This light, take it —

it’ll last till morning. I don’t know 

how long it’s lived, how many breaths 

it has taken. Just take it. Put it in your hands.

Cradle it in between your legs, your elbows.

Your knees. Just take it.

The morning after, I woke to the sound 

of buzzing, a fly next to me, caressing 

my pruney hair with its three legs — the other

three propped behind its kaleidoscopic head.

How did you sleep, it asks me. 

Well. I slept well.