From The Zoo Father To visit you Father, I wear a mask of fire ants.
When I sit waiting for you to explain why you abandoned me when I was eight
they file in, their red bodies massing around my eyes, stinging my pupils white
until I’ m blind. Then they attack my mouth. I try to lick them but they climb down my gullet
until an entire swarm stings my stomach, while you must become a giant anteater,
push your long sticky tongue down my throat, as you once did to my baby brother,
French-kissing him while he pretended to sleep. I can’ t remember what you did to me, but the ants know.