ANTI/\OJOS, Unleashed

Dear ANTI/\OJANS:

I have said that, should I have children, I want to leave them with more than

the postmemory of an Eclectic-Comfort-Trunk

an expired foreign passport, a thrift-store dress,

and a predisposition to be eaten by ants

over which to swing the pendula of their minds in perpetual ululation–

pendululation.

I do not know if I want or will or will not have children but I do know that for more than a decade I have found myself pregnant, pregnant with what might be (might eventually become?) an ant-pellet.

Pregnant with something that I have lately chosen to nourish into a ripe-for-the-spooning kaki.

The 13-year gestation is complete. I finally bear the fruit of my labor.

And I say to it:

Angel, my angel, my sweetheart, wake up. See the foam on the wave, see the tornado, the hurricane.

Say:

We will stand here until there is snow on the mountain.

I present you the youngest, most insatiable living thing in this world:

ANTI/\OJOS

Regards,

The Kaki Planter

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