on repeat in the truck’s cab, doors open. I made a mental list of who we might be. Heretic, said the good silly drug of blood to my limp body. Dracula, said this body to my blood. It’s good fertilizer, she said, blood. We dripped a cup across rows marked with sticks & string. If we can’t reach up, we reach down. She dug hands into the damp dirt. She soured into the ground. The ground reached up & took hold of her. It’s great fun to be taken hold of. It’s no fun at all.