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what it takes to fill a chile and make it relleno

by Erin Smedley 2 months ago in nature poetry

alice in concrete jungle

what it takes to fill a chile and make it relleno
Photo by Timothy L Brock on Unsplash

open flame, the sun

flutters atop

a raccoon, smush

on pavement, intestines

sway in the breeze like ivy

clings to the sky. an ambulance

dodges the remains, in figure

skater leisure, silent sirens a dull

plasticky glow, red that glints

when the sun hits

just right, no spinning. yet

a body, still,

stretched out, propped

up in the rear he

can watch the world

in the wrong direction,

dried orange leaves

sneak back into their trees,

the sun spins

into yesterday,

the raccoon sucks

in its stomach. chile relleno

not yet stuffed, lies

on the stove top, open flame,

once red now smolder, funeral

pyre, when it is done

yellowed fingers,

whose nails blacken

as they fill with ash,

slowly peel off the chile’s

slimy red skin, scoop

out its innards and pour in

whatever. the man

in the ambulance, jaundiced—

his head pinballs, his jaw droops

away from the road toward grass,

maybe a bed

of leaves and flower

petals, his mouth

an iris, his tongue

the stigma or the optic

nerve, o, O, O, like smoke

rings. who are you, absolem

breathes into the man and raccoon,

both drowned in raindrops

and intestines. the man cannot

eat from the mushroom to grow,

but the raccoon becomes filling,

he withers away in the chile,

licks a match like a lollipop

and sets himself aflame

nature poetry

Erin Smedley

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Erin Smedley
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