Month Three

I met a stump. I nestled by its moss.
They told me to pour honey on it.
I nestled by the stump of Chris’s soul,
dandruff everywhere,
toothpaste stain on the
glass container by
the Henry Miller porn.
The box of his wilderness.
The sparkplugs and feathers.
His ashes, still white,
still enplasticked,
still zip-tied.
If you give attention to the voicemail
it’ll kill you five ways. Maybe six.
Hey, sexy. I love you.
You make me laugh.
You turn me on.
How to fit six-foot-three into two
bags for the Lover Monster
and the Son Monster,
who bicker over an oily Subaru?
Where did the penis end up?
Do you know a dirty joke?
I met a singer and I ate her
iron throat. I licked
her nodules. I tunneled
past her happiness. I
scraped out her voice box and
poured my attention into it. I
poured the ashes into it. I ladled
honey on the ashes and watched
how I ruin every party.

Alex Behr is a writer, editor and musician in Portland, OR. She teaches creative writing residencies in Portland high schools through Literary Arts’ Writers in the Schools program and occasional writing labs through Corporeal Writing. She is the author of Planet Grim: Stories (7.13 Books). Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Tin House, Kithe, Gravity of the Thing, Oregon Humanities, Vol. 1 Brooklyn, Cleaver, and elsewhere. She received a RACC grant to support her adoption interview website called Altar / Altered: Adoption Stories and Sacred Objects. www.altar-altered.com. www.alexbehr.com