Erica Bernheim Everything was a Year Ago

It’s not official unless it happens
behind the airport, our invented
euphemism for a bite wound
inconsistent with the wax
impression of the deep marks
of an upward tooth. 1977 was
also the last time it officially
snowed in Tampa. Reel in, rules
out. In my dream last night, the role
of you was played by a small,
sensible utopia. People there liked
it a lot, especially all that fresh fruit
before the sudden knowing that a body
near you was dead. It takes more
than strength to go on. Common
symptoms include: a willingness
to drink limeade in obscene volume,
the cultivation of a stellar backyard,
a place to fuck that is neither eco-friendly
nor modern, has never been renovated
in this sick turtle’s lifetime, the sinister
vegetation of the Florida undergrowth.


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