" Green Man Quartet "
Heigh ho, sing heigh ho, unto the green holly;
most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
William Shakespeare
i
Tonight, he bites my breasts like apples, splits
the ivory flesh of my nipples. Once before church
he caught me lighting candles and used
hot wax to blister my skin. A chapel now
will make me wet, anticipating
his mouth. Sometimes I thought his gifts
were a bouquet fading on a windowsill.
After our honeymoon I realized I'd made
a mistake and wept into my tea and he
laughed at me and said I liked it.
My hands shook. Tonight he winks
and I sneak out to the barn to see
if the queen has delivered new kittens.
I grope along the side of the building,
faltering stars plummet into clouds, never
enough light to show what next year brings.
ii
You follow me to the barn where I fold
into mossy darkness. My husband safely
surrounded by fat neighbors who ply
him with eggnog and sugar cookies.
You warn me about the green man who
hides in the rafters and watches
the wanderers pass through. We find
rude stars where the chink in the roof
needs attention. Not the kind you
wish upon or follow. Moonlight
holds my breasts while you watch
me watch you unbutton your jeans.
Animals unfamiliar with our smell
grow restless, moan to each other.
I can see his sparkle over
your shoulder, high in the peak.
I kiss your ear, tell you he is watching.
You say no, it's only the North Star.
You dig in deeper, lick each tear
as it rolls across my cheek. Your tongue,
soft and warm, becomes nibbed
with thorns. Your limbs are briars, your eyes
startle me with their red glow. You sip
at me as sweetly as whisky.
I taste who I am on your lips, the wheat
of me, and the yeast. You say our children
will be the berries plundered by blue jays.
iii
All things grow in the dark.
Like a twin, I will have
two lives. On horseback I leave, dressed
in emerald green, not so low
I cannot hide his marks. Fern
and holly are preferable to flesh.
Galloping past our orchard, I note
the cracks and dimples in the walls
where mice burrow. I call
to the snakes I've seen, vipers that know
the ways of such walls.
That day he sliced apples, took the blade
used to open our fruit and ran it
along my breasts, cooling the fire
his teeth had stoked. The night
I ran, I hurled the remaining windfalls
at the rock wall that bordered
our property. I watched each apple
burst into white flame--snakes
slithered with every toss,
and each fruit reached its mark.
iv
Tonight I loosen the pelt of my body
and shimmy under budding trees.
I've shaken off the old life, released
her into the crisp of spring. I've knit moss,
bone and thistle--left our amber-
eyed bastard in an open field,
vacant but for the keening of the moon.
I peer into a triangular face, lap a puddle
by the birth-howl of our kin. Briar and holly
encircle my sacrificial tail. I was woman
and vixen, changed over and over
to accommodate flesh and fur. The coolness
of the green forest embraces me,
our un-born runs with us as we follow
one another, torch-red eyes glowing.
Figments who turn in the dark.
© 2004 Laurie Byro
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