I want to buy 300 dollars of fresh produce
From the Farmer’s Market, 
Enough that my kitchen feels like the garden of Eden 
Our little gecko seems sick and listless
My first instinct is to give him a drop of my blood
I give his crickets some carrots.
I give him a cricket.
He is docile and for this I love him 
I protect him from the careless limbs 
Of my toddlers , a boy and a girl : twin stars. 
His drawings of peach trees
Her poems about angels. 
I want to float like a witch, 
Like an egg that’s spoiled
In the La Grange Quarry. 
In the back of the fridge 
Is a dry piece of salmon
Curling up like a diseased gum
 There’s a fat chicken, too 
The color of a molting gecko
I pull out the gizzard
A small string of bells 
Covered in blood
That is what I imagine is there 
Inside me as well