stephanie woolley-larrea
Priorities
The night we dreamt together
you dreamt you made me pregnant
I dreamt I cleaned out your refrigerator.
Sure, it was the middle of my month
but there were empty peanut butter jars
that wanted removing.
Yes, my stomach was beginning to swell
but your milk was starting to turn.
We fixed each other good that night,
neither of us innocent in sleep
each of us attending to our womanly duty.
Three Coconut Trees
Three coconut trees on topsoil
waiting for me to dig their holes.
The fruit ready to uncoil -
fibrous and determined: anticipating life.
I used to chase coconuts around the sidewalk
with a hammer, trying to crack them
as they bounced, so I could pull back
at the stubborn, meaty treasure with a screwdriver.
But these three coconuts weren’t attacked
by an overzealous eight year-old with bad aim.
They’ve started to become trees, cracked
by a slim green trunk reaching from within.
They look like half notes played
badly in seventh-grade band.
I guess that’s how all life is made:
It waits for the right moment, and hangs on.
