And looking at them makes my skin

 

slide off the bone,

retracting

 

against uneasy black slime I fear will

slip

 

from the bark, landing sticky and hot

as tar,too heavy on my chest.

 

They grow

blistered

on the trunk,

 

round purple flesh packed together

like eggs

in the belly of a Traira Catfish

 
 

tight with pregnancy.

 

These Jabuticaba fruits

 

thick

and

clustered

 

to my sternum,

multiplying with every shallow breath

 

stuck humid and dark

vibrating

 

against my ribs

 

I can’t look away even though I hate

their closeness and too-round things.

# #