Variation on a Theme by Mary Oliver
Lillian Aff
we feed this feverish plot, we are nourished
by the mystery.
I.
I caught a lot of bugs back then, or,
what I thought were bugs—roly polies,
the only terrestrial crustaceans
adapted to live on land alone
I would hold them in their tiny spirals,
protecting their gills from dehydration,
but how was I to know?
I didn’t know what an arthropod was
I didn’t know I could kill just because
I held them, then I dropped them
onto a castle made of wooden blocks,
left them to shrivel in the sun, a string of pearls
Five years old with copper blood on my hands
I didn’t know that they bleed blue
II.
I had a nightmare, many nights, that giant
roly polies came out of their shells,
exoskeletons like snakes molting,
antennae the length of my arms
They teleported me out of my room,
into their cave, where they dissected
me, piece by piece, taking an ear here,
a finger there, testing if humans have
anterior shells to mark the past,
then they’d put me back in my trundle bed
They came back the next night and did it
all over again, but this time it was
my heart, my liver, my kidneys:
turns out I didn’t need those
the next time it was my iris,
to test if I could control light
that time it was my larynx so
I never have to guess what it’s like
to be voiceless—that’s the best thing about
recurring dreams—subconscious conscience
I’d wake up in my own waste,
tangled together with stains on the sheets,
sure to fall back into my vivisected body,
wildly terrified in posterior hindsight:
out of pain came more pain
I'd done more than I could have known.
by the mystery.
I.
I caught a lot of bugs back then, or,
what I thought were bugs—roly polies,
the only terrestrial crustaceans
adapted to live on land alone
I would hold them in their tiny spirals,
protecting their gills from dehydration,
but how was I to know?
I didn’t know what an arthropod was
I didn’t know I could kill just because
I held them, then I dropped them
onto a castle made of wooden blocks,
left them to shrivel in the sun, a string of pearls
Five years old with copper blood on my hands
I didn’t know that they bleed blue
II.
I had a nightmare, many nights, that giant
roly polies came out of their shells,
exoskeletons like snakes molting,
antennae the length of my arms
They teleported me out of my room,
into their cave, where they dissected
me, piece by piece, taking an ear here,
a finger there, testing if humans have
anterior shells to mark the past,
then they’d put me back in my trundle bed
They came back the next night and did it
all over again, but this time it was
my heart, my liver, my kidneys:
turns out I didn’t need those
the next time it was my iris,
to test if I could control light
that time it was my larynx so
I never have to guess what it’s like
to be voiceless—that’s the best thing about
recurring dreams—subconscious conscience
I’d wake up in my own waste,
tangled together with stains on the sheets,
sure to fall back into my vivisected body,
wildly terrified in posterior hindsight:
out of pain came more pain
I'd done more than I could have known.
Lillian Aff is a poet at Scripps College from Monte Rio, California. They are studying English and creative writing.
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