Yael Villafranca

Animal of Love

how do you survive the walls of yr own mind?

start with the body.

i love a neck rotation exposing the throat

to her fullest extent.

draw in the new air.

expel the old air.

follow the pleasure of breathing.

listen to the animal chew their food and eject uninvited parasites.

leave them to roam. never impede their space.

sleep when the sun rises.

cry and eat and read at the same time.

pour one good dose of candlewax down yr throat.

fight yr mate if you have to.

but give those bleeding shoulders some aftercare with yr tongue and teeth.

you can only accept one moment and then another.

you say today i can let this go.

did u realize we’re alive together in this rainforest that only exists in vapor?

and u can download this free wallpaper too.

i’d rather sleep while everyone else goes on with the day,

but the pack knows when someone is absent.

all cravings exist and move on their own time.

i can only go at the speed of my own chemicals.

the other animals are like me in that sense.

one sings herself into a coma and wakes with no memory of any shameful incidents.

the other plucks out her feathers because it feels good to start over.

my animal doesn’t know the meaning of months or days.

i’m alive with the sight of her—there and gone—

a nameless presence in the valley of redwoods.

Animal of Love [Redux]

1.

Shouldn’t you want more than these foamcore walls

replete with sturdy rolling sons?

Though I ferry my son to the rose garden.

And we chase around the fountain he once kicked a sandal into.

I couldn’t bear the cycle of the day if I’m half dead lacking sleep.

Still I’m awake til four a.m. eating corn tortilla chips and scrolling

til my eyes get crunchy.

There’s just no satisfying alternative to finishing the crossword _____.

[five letters; how all things and people die]

49-across: the iconic long-tailed runners went extinct a long time ago.

I looked it up.

Offspring were rare to begin with.

The majority never made it to adulthood due to human infestation of their homes.

I want to say I’m not involved but I wake over and over in this fascist state.

And I can’t stop watching.

I need to know what the kid holding the camera wants me to see.

The least I can do is witness.

2.

The child can’t sleep without clambering atop his father’s body.

His mochi feet snug between the sleeping dad’s ribs and the mattress.

They’re nested around each other like cats in an apple crate.

These days the kid’s dad and I keep to our corners.

He travels between us with the confidence of a cheating cyclist.

He wins food and permission.

When I call out it’s beyond the range of the father’s hearing.

Each person with a radar on for someone else’s footsteps.

But we are adequate, we tell ourselves.

No better or worse than the past generations under wars and dictatorships.

The New Wife and the Old Wife Had the Same Severe Bob

Turns out watching your ex get married is easier than making choux pastry.

The champagne is decent, you dance by yourself, and you have no ill feelings.

All the times you rolled up your sleeves and plunged your hands

into the molten belly of the patient.

Before then I believed a santoku was the answer to every issue.

I sliced the onions so thin I shaved my thumb.

The apartment filling with aromatic eye vapors.

Never forget that your ex’s labor beyond requirement

gave you time to study for the new country certification test.

How could I forget? When he only wished to make my every fantasy come true.

We were exhausted watching 58 variations on manifesting curry videos.

I didn’t know back then I could deliver my own blessings.

Remember when it snowed for three days

and we ate brown butter mushrooms from the same bowl

and talked about other cities we’d never live in.

Love speaks without raising their voice.

Stay with me in our private splendor.

Svetlana Turetskaya