The Real Nightmare

When pressed

            by new and old strangerson why I left my husband, I alwaystell the truth:                        we devoured each other

hungry for toes and tits, a salt lickof limbs            orgasm after orgasmuntil it felt like the whole world             was coming

to nothingbut splinters of the driest branch.

I know this is a classic storybecause it shuts them up.

But nowif I turn down my sheetschildren start screamingthrough windows          and Jane shakesme awake, asking

if it was the city or the valley               nightmare. Her hand a dynasty

               of emerald hummingbirdssaving us all from famine,

from the real nightmare:

that I'll gobble Jane too, actas a wendigo slurping her bodyto the nub—

or is this the truly bad dream:that the appetite was never there?

Safety the only thing to savor.