when i stare across the table and i realize i am in love
and she looks at me as if she is in love with me as well
but that must be some sort of mistake there’s no way
maybe it’s the sushi it’s gotta be the sushi
i assume everyone looks like they’re in love when
they are eating sushi

i sneeze, but it sounds more like a monstrous growl
one of those sneezes that you hear someone do
and you just want to walk across, say, the sushi bar
and slap them across their face for being obnoxious
i sneeze one of those sneezes seizing into my arm
and i look back at her, sugar-eyed she says “bless you.”
and i think to myself that i must be blessed
but my arm so close now i see what is beginning to happen

great thick hairs begin to crawl through my skin like spiders
as my nails lengthen sharpen and blacken on my left arm
i turn my wrist, below the table, upright and black veins bulge
pulsating, i glance up in fear and she is still oblivious to me
she picks at the sushi with her chopsticks and has no clue
that i am beginning to transform

i reach for the sushi with my right arm, still normal
and say something like “this is some damn good sushi.”
my hand shaking as i bring the raw fish to my salty mouth
i chew the sushi like it’s the first thing i’ve eaten in weeks
with the desperation of a wild wolf my teeth at war with each other
my vision begins to blur and i see her just stare onward at me
her cheeks rosy and red her hand reached out for my hand
the lights become harsh and great fangs begin to grown in my mouth
the taste of blood rises from the pit of my stomach like a monsoon
i reach my contorted hand for hers and i hold it like a support system
my fingers tracing her wrist i start to think about her blood
i start to think about my wolf fangs diving deep into her neck
i think about the moan it would release from her soul
like a ghost set loose out into the world, like smoke rising
like some shadow of a red balloon rising into the atmosphere

still she looks at me like i’m the doctor who cured her cancer
she looks at me like i’m the mailman and it’s her sixteenth birthday
my vision black and green the world is some strange jungle
and the kettle drum inside me continues to gain and gain more
my breaths grow faint and i am still turning, now my right arm
grown reckless and hairy there’s no room in my animal skull any longer
for thoughts of philosophy or poetry or sweet women at dinner tables

and still she looks at me like i am the man she wants to marry
and still she looks at me like i am some realization of a dream
while inside of me demons dance around huge bonfires
while inside of me mountains burn and great cities are evacuated
she still looks at me, and interlacing her soft fingers between
the dangerous clutch of my morbid claws she speaks with pink lips
i love you
and i howl a resonating bloodlust howl for the death inside my soul
for the eternal chase of the scattered prey, dark praise to the moon
but all she hears is
i love you too, and
this is some damn good sushi


Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.


Leave a Reply to editorval Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s