by Kris Bigalk
The habeñero peppers were no accident.
I grew them
especially for you,
to watch you pluck a bright yellow bonnet,
or tourmaline, then sink your bicuspids
hard into the flesh, only to throw
on fire with my revenge, tail stiff
and high as you raced for your burrow
as I laughed, counting the losses
I had suffered at your paws – tulip bulbs,
sunflower heads, sleepy mornings
interrupted by your family arguments
in the tree outside my window…
Me gusto, Señor Squirrel.
Joyce Sutphen, Minnesota's Poet Laureate, on Repeat the Flesh in Numbers: "