r e m    +    r o m

The Burning Carnation
 

Rosa Marea feeds us homeny form a zul spoon w/ white dots – this mulch re member us asi — tal vez our 1° memrey as such – setting in m∞ms casa tho our mudder not = a key – just Marea + us – even our dead brother ≠ here @ this pt – high-tailed ya back to Oregone w/ dad — our feet dangle off the silla wile we chew – not quiet reaching the damp tiles smelling sickly uv milldew + ammonya – beyond this the evervescent smell of her hare + burning mazefields + how they make bricks daily in the next valle over — mentiras tonto a cockaroach scuddles into an xposed lit socket — in the courtyard we see Lobo sleeping in the grass so we shift (must half willed our corp to moov unkumtux away from Marea) de repente our face buried in her fur – she grroans back rolling + howls hay yi yi (where hay means «there ∃xists» in spanish) — her fur smells wet + breadth cum boiled fish we feed her form the sea — we throw a stick but still she wont fetch — a cock tempts to crow doodle from the coop butt comes off as buffoonish-burracho — Marea goes back to working the jarden – doing the chores our m∞m never wants to – even when home —


w/ a machete Marea hacks @ the palm bush in the corner back where no hoogamos cuz of all the dead debris + cobwebs clinging to the dark bushy trunk where never the sol retches — we never did find out how the yucca got there to begin – era ya when come us incarnated into the whorld — Marea swings the machete cum she musters to hit a piρata – her black hare coming untied as she hacks the bush to bits — far from gracefull — the knive sharpenning whistool sirens by outside on the street beyond our wall — pretend us that Marea needs our help so we straddle Lobo – kick her up cum caballo – making clicking noises w/ our tungue – guiding Lobo w/ imaginary reins so reel we feel the leather – xcept she makes a detour for the kitchen — on her back now we ride plenty tall to reach the long matches by the stove – then in passing la mesa we grab yesterdays comics – but Lobo comes mos intrested in the leftover pozole — muster us to grab the bol but slip us off Lobos back pulling it all crashing to the flor – the blu spoon clattering + the bol shaterring into too menny pieces for ∀ll the kings horses to count —


Marea stops wut she does + cums arunning to shoe the woofdog away — no es su culpa we dice — she turns for the broomcloset while we bid retreat to the backyard w/ matchbox + comix — the goat @ the end of his rope musters to git the paper – in a hemasphere of trampled dirt cuz he ya ate todo in site — Lobo lays down panting in the shade of the limon tree while we crumble comics under the dead brittle leafs of the palm-bush — then w/ pressed finger we strike the red tip rubbing ourself raw a cross the gritty strip – flecks sticking to our dedo burning – but not in a bad way — flick us the lit matchstick into the pile of comics then suck on our singed finger – smells familiar like hare burning ± plumbs — the comics turn the flame the same calor as the charactors – milting the dead baja blades uv the palm-bush — cot spiders curl ± cringe – heat crackles + xpends to the heart of the living piρata – flames erupt into the air + birds flee in all direxions as the fire pops + hisses – whistling cum castillos they lit during carneval — a bird emurges w/ feathers on fire – flies a cross the yard como un cuete w/ Lobo in reflexive pursuit — lizards scatter across the walls + eggs cook in their own shell + the goat runs ½-circules @ the end of his leash — the bush glows from w/in – an orange orb feeling hot on our skin cum sun — scorpions + spiders scurry past neath our dancing feet — Lobo howls wild then in a sudden Rosa Marea raps her arms round us lifting – your stumick sucking a bit sick from the shock uv sudden swoop — con pink plastic shoes she stomps scorpions while we git tucked under her armpit smelling uv onions — their tales cuncocked reddy for action – the poison ball + hook thingy waving overhead – pinching @ the air cum crabs —


Marea carries us back to the kitchen smelling salty damp + musky — ‘quedatay! she orders us garabbing a mop bucket + big pot then running out the porta atras – Lobo lumbering after her — smoke billows from the rearing recess of the yard + into the sky for ∀ll the world to see — a man w/ a bullwhip coiled on his sombrero peaks in thru the backdoor sees the fire – Ώtodo bien? – his horse taking the opportunity to nibble grass tween the cobblestones — he = the 1 as needed to use his whip to keep livestock off the streets for the pueblo — sum say he killed a man once w/ his whip – not by any accident — but he aint no bombero no how – the only firemen here base themselvs @ the aeropuerto un layhose away — toto bajo control we say squeezing past him out into the cobblestone cayay — corncobs + popsickle sticks cullect in the gutter where the rain left them — see for ourselvs the smoke rising from afuera + even the tops of flames abuv the wall — the horse rises his tale + moist green caca crumbles out to bake clumped where it falls under the scorching sun —


revolves Marea w/ 2 pails of seawater – strands of hare dangling in her face – she musters to blow the luz strands out of her eyes as water sloshes + spills over the sides — church bells call peepole to mass — the wolf lingers still @ the seashore where fishnets hang draped cum graphs to dry in time — the bullwhipped man helps Marea w/ a bucket + a button of her blowse pops undone — we kin see thru to the bottum of her white cottin bra keeping it in as swet drips down her neck — pick us a popsickle stick out of the gutter to suck on in plaze of the reel thing ± chiclet — the palm-bush sizzles as they throw water on the fuego – but burns still on the fringes – the frickshin uv fission smells like making bebe-bricks – piezes of straw embedded in the adobee burn cum wicks but the packed earthen bricks dont ketch ∀ll lo mismo — before even another trip to shore the flames burn out on their own accord leafing only a charred smoldering halo — Marea wipes the swety strands from her face + thanks the caballero w/ the coiled whip — he tips his sombrero + gits on his horse + rides away –


comes Lobo loping + Marea latches the gate behind us back inside our yard — she picks us up aksing Ώk vamos a ser con tee? los dos need us a bath — carries us cum groceries to el banyo – under an awning uv red tile made uv the same red material ass bricks – her dirty hare coarse cum horse smelling uv wet wolf + laychay – el banyo dark + damp smelling of dead roaches — twists she the C faucet + agua splashes a cross the tile — takes off our shoes 1 Χ 1 — a black beetle crawls wet a cross the flor – lean us over to touch the horns but she says no tocas — Marea steps on the black beetle w/ pink plastic shoes – it twitches still a bit when she looks @ her sol after crying out caray — proseeds her to take off our dirty sox + lift our soot-brothy shirt over our head – kneels to unzip our pants riggling them down around our knees so we can step out — steam rises from the falling water – she twists the other faucet w/ an F – su mano in the misty stream her blowse splattered wet — feel us cum foal as she nudges us into the shower – the warm water makes us pee a yellow streamline mixing w/ bathwater swirling down the drain — the tiles have a hexed carnation patturn stamped over + over w/ no beginning ± end – a wet spider musters to climb up the tiled walls to no a veil —


Rosa Marea disappears from site til de nuevo we see her hands fold clothes + stack them on the toilet seat — in the mirrir she lets down her hare — then steps into the shower bending over w/ shoulders hunched – rapid shuttering then dipping her head under – agua streams down each jet black strand til it flows all as 1 cuntinuous wet sheet — coming off her head + disappearing for good down the drain — we kin still smell fire – sun lite seeps in thru cracks in the shut door – by a luz hinge — shedding lite on her stocky legs – up to a bush of glissning black curls where they join in flesh — she sees us seeing + turns so vemos solo agua plastring the hares down her back all the way down to the cleaving — lathers pink soap in her hands — «tu primero» she says about facing – the area around her nipples the size uv silver dollars + tambien darker than m∞ms — neath the jabone we smell wolfbreath + cornhusk still – fading now to rosemilk tween petaling folds fleshing out w/ flowing agua ∀ll in udder darknest cept for a few rays coming from the hinges — the affeck reminds us of a dead possum we saw once by headlite so say us sew to Marea + she aks Ώk es? — es como coatamundi but marsoupeal – tal vez the part that gave us la idea = the pouch donde los bebes viven — that + their habit uv playing dead —


herd us Lobo scratching @ the door + we got so xcited Marea drops the jabone — Ώkin we let her in? we aks — este no es lugar por un perro she says — pero no es perro we say in response – es Lobo – + no 1 hast to saber xcept u + me — ok dice ella – pero no dices nada a tu mama — y primero we need to git u limp-clean — w/ her slipry hands she sopes us up in foamy froth — stretching our tingly skin tite + hard — no signifca nada a tu edad she says then tells us to sierra los ojos + w/ the same jabone she lathers our hare + w/ eyes shut we see all the spiders + scorpions w/ tales cocked + kin still smell milky wolf breath + burning maze feelds — after we will let the wolf in – tho by then wheel itch for sol + for Marea to swaddle our corpse in a fresh towel strait off the line strung tween branches of the limon tree — but for now she nudges us to rinse so we stand under the warm stream coming from the dark cielo thinking how it becomes felt before ∀ll swirling down the drain to sea — kumtux full well that Rosa Marea know ∃xist in us no moss –

  

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REM + ROM are the authors of A Raft Manifest, forthcoming from Calamari Archive.


in issue three


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