Always Messing with them Boys
Jessica Helen Lopez       

 Note from Lima
(Monday Mornings, Postcards and Assorted
Pinon and Starlike References)

Like the insides of pinon
the startled meaty fruit of nutseed
caught between the teeth and by surprise
the seed like star pops from its boat of skin
to roll around on the tongue
the shell discarded
left to melt back into the earth

that was me when
I received your postcard
tattooed in exotic postage
and dressed in your eager
penmanship and ballpoint poetry
across wind-swept continents and
the expanse of time

your postcard slept inside the iron
gut of my morning mailbox
its long scribbled arms waiting to wrap
their memories around my neck
all the way from Cusco
all the way from Lima

I popped open from the sleep of my skin
I allowed your words to roll around the tongue
caught between happiness and melancholy
I read and re-read your note from Peru

The individual letters mapped out your travels
spelled out your future plans
the constellation of your heavenly body

tiny crammed script let me
know you
thought of me
crooked little letters spilling
from the tattered corners
falling off the edge of earth
into the mouth of ocean

lingering, I savored the juicy meat
the fruit of your words
the brightly-skinned postcard

startled by the sudden
shooting star of tears
that fell like a light rain
from my naked cheek

I turned my back
then and walked into the wind
back to the warm spot of my apartment
to sip my hot coffee and brush out
my tangled morning hair
like the pinon shell
earthy and dusty
falling from the pine tree
I melted back into the eart