Poetry Pause is the League of Canadian Poets’ daily poetry dispatch. Read “Bacteria costume” by S.A. Leger.

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Bacteria costume

By S.A. Leger

Sometimes I wish that the other 99.97% of you

that is not bacteria were as predictable

as the suitcase of microorganisms

you live in. I cannot determine the accuracy

of your cell replication, nor divine the thoughts

in your head. I watch you for signs, patterns

such as the fact that already dead things remind me

I too will die (my desk now hints at this,

the coffee grounds in the bin, the crumbling palm

I tried to ginger up). I twirl your hair—

thick as a horse’s mane (by some enigma—

genetic windfall)—around my hands,

once, twice. Your hair is long now,

predictable, as you have not had it cut

and it is simply keratin—dead

as the nail clippings you leave

on my dresser. My love, I know you

are covered in fungal spores, malicious

bacteria, dead skin cells, dried fluids,

and single-celled organisms such that can be found

in the substrate of a pond.

But when you speak, you look like electricity,

the beryl in your eyes—stalactites hung

off a disco ball. I take you to every room

in our home, rub your calves, try to find

the bottom of the suitcase. I straighten your toes

looking for clues. So far,

I have nothing but hairs on my shirt and a yearning

to watch your organs perform their functions—

I know this too is love

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Copyright © S.A. Leger

Previously published in Conduit.

S.A. Leger is a writer and ornithologist from Newfoundland, Canada. Her poems have recently appeared in or are forthcoming from The Hopkins Review, SWWIM, The Los Angeles Review, Conduit, and The Malahat Review. She spends her days exploring the 47th parallel with her wife and dachshund.

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