On this lowly night,

in the middle of the earth,

the cold wind howls,

and the pale-ish moon eavesdrops as

the mother of my great, great grandmother holds

a conversation with me.

Soul to soul we rapport,

shedding flesh and puffing blood.

“The ol’ days,” she begins,

“I was a dog licking sand

and eating maggots wherever I saw.

I bore in tens and tens

and rubbed my face with 

the blood of my uterus

when my pups became merchandise.”

I puff blood into the air.

We growl and laugh.

She continues,

“Wasn’t I a good mooing cow

who milked and milked

and turned blood cream

when her breasts sagged and bruised?

I became beef before long.

Sweet, sweet beef

butchered unevenly, and dispersed abroad.

I bet the earth had a good meal.”

We growl maniacally, puffing and splintering,

whimpering and whining.

I see her soul stand up, dust her feet

and walk a distance.

She takes a quick look back at

my black bones shattered on the surface.

And in admiration, she mutters,

“Don’t you look so much like me?”