The Folklore
Shortly after crawling from the river, the folklore
Died of pernicious diseases. Died upside down
In our wishing well, showing its bloomers.
Someone spat on the folklore. Someone dipped
The folklore, like a candle, in lye. Someone
Washed the folklore’s corpse. Someone put
The folklore under a sun lamp, but the folklore
Did not revive. When I next saw the folklore,
It was filing papers in a basement office,
Trying to tip the vending machine over, loving
The salty and the sweet. I shook out all the snacks,
Now I am the ugly wife of the folklore, we kiss
Our ugly faces together, clammy. We go out
For ice cream, we love apples, we hold hands
Under the table. We eat peanuts, wipe grease
On our skirts, get married over and over. We
Are tipsy in the hot afternoon, swaying along
With the sunflowers. Once a year the folklore
Rides away on a little pig, I weep in our manor,
I shield my eyes with straw. Then the folklore
Comes back with beads, honeycombs, GigaPets,
We are in love again. Knocking against each other,
Lurking in each other’s dreams like sharks.
We go to the natural history museum, disappear
Into the tanned cloaks of extinct peoples. We,
Too, are extinct and rolling down a hill, scooped
By grass. How much longer can we go on living,
Dying, seeking the other in each inherited world.
When you, the folklore, first swam towards me,
You grabbed my ankles, you heaved yourself
Onto the banks, onto me. Dripping, we began.