bathtub full of white plum tree flowers 

a long time ago a beast died 
& tucked its teeth inside every plum--
flat & rigid. this was done with 
the intention to cut-- to slice
mouth open who wanted something 
bruised & sweet. plums fall from my thighs.
plums cascade from the bathtub where 
i scrub a my bones. a voice says i should
use the soap to get it out-- that there 
is nothing that water cannot cure.
i feed a plum to a fly & watch its
mandibles working. i ask the fly 
if it's sweet & the fly agrees yes it is sweet.
i believe all seeds were once sharper 
& sitting in a mouth. there is a kind
of fury to fruit blossoms-- that overwhelming
white of plum tree blossoms. they fill
my bed room every time i'm hungry.
they fill lover's mouths when we're
too close to happiness. i could love 
every single plum if given more time.
if given more mouths. i think of Cerberus--
the three headed dog & how many plums
i would be able to eat with his body.
do the heads divide emotions up?
one for shame one of sorrow and one
for hunger. sometimes i have three heads.
sometimes i have more than that. 
sometime i plant the seeds of plums
hoping a monster & not a tree will grow.
sometimes a monster does grow 
& i scratch it behind the ears & feed
it everything i have because 
you have to give yourself over to monsters--
that's what they're there for. 
i eat a cold plum in my kitchen 
& feel each of my teeth as they 
ask to fall out. i tell them no
i tell them i need teeth & they ache
to be seeds. i tell them to just let
me finish eating this one last fruit 
& then they can go free & do
whatever they please.