The Scientist

Sometimes I forget my own name.

I forget my own name

Until he says it out loud.

I hear it bloom from his mouth

Like an exotic flower

Like the red Latin ribbon

Wrapped round an insect otherwise ordinary

Speyeria idalia

Sweet dreams, Andrea

And I don’t know who he means,

What golden-eyed girl his whispers

Are rushed toward.

I am frightened to blink

Frightened I’ll think it to death

A breath, and I’ll flutter away

While he scrambles, pleads

Stay.

So I hover on faith

While he sketches me slowly

Into a scientific journal

A little lined diary he keeps in his pocket

While strolling this island

Of beetles and tortoises

Lizards and finches

Long, lava trenches

And high mountain vistas

Vast pebbled beaches

And low lying mist.

He kissed me like he was planting a flag

And I thought

I want him to name me

I want him to claim me for his own

To peel me like a smooth-skinned grape

To slice me wide open from navel to nape

Then pin me limb by limb

Heart by lung and head by tongue

So pink and proud

So bright and loud

But crushingly silent.

I want to be violently exposed

And told what I am

How I fit into life

By a man who makes and unmakes me

With a pen and a knife.