Cull/Culche
Chapter wanton
Nava in the fields feels for her belly. The granules of dirt in her
button, she feels for, says, Breakfast, cats. Let's get breakfast,
Meows soften in Nava's hair and up from her hands, she pulls the
bottom of her lips, lies back in the dirt and grabs for dirt. Her
nails and the cats around, inside closer.
Come here, cat.
The cat does not obey. This one runs across the field for a mouse
and Nava cheers. Yes, yes, kill it.
A blade from her pocket, a knife she keeps for grain, sucking on the
green grains at the edge of the field. She stands up. It is not
too late to kill a mouse, Nava thanks. She follows with her
knife the cat to the mouse. Picks it up, guts its innards to spill
on the field and feels the meat of the rodent. The cat watches
but not long, claws at Nava's legs. She drops the mouse to
see the cat devour.
Yes, yes.
This is the right thing. The sun so high, and in its face of teeth rays
heat Nava's face. She walks to the end of the field. Dirt, little
mouse, is not the place for you. You are not a cat.
Yes, yes.
Corn floods the fields with cats and dirt. Walking out, Nava's body
grows into itself, her small breasts, her limbs, out. She
watches as she walks how she's a girl.
There's her brother. Her brother will call her. He will call many times.
She must go back.
She must shake her hair free of cats.
Chapter between the voices
Husks line the fields that Logan calls to.
Nava, dinner.
He knows she doesn't want to come and the only way is to go
digging or follow a cat. But Logan doesn't like cats.
Calls to his brother
Robbie, you go get Nava.
So Robbie goes among the husks and cats and calls for Nava,
Dinner.
Dinner,
Logan's put to use the vegetables from the garden.
And he hears from beneath a stalk on the other end of the field:
Vegetables grown from the dirt?
Robbie follows the cats in the line between the husks to the voice.
Lying in a pile of dirt Nava strokes the fur of the cat with her
dirt fingers. Her knife lay at her side, blade out.
I think so.
Nava doesn't block the sun to see Robbie, who steps over her to
make a shadow, feet on both sides of her hips.
Won't you get up and stop the stupidness?
Nava reaches for the knife, cuts off his laces and goes back to the cat.
I hope all your shoes got double knotted too tight and you can never
go barefoot.
Because to her, to her dirtied feet never constrained with shoes, with
grit between each toe, shoes are the worst of all.
Robbie takes the curse-chest out.
It's getting cold.
Dinner or weather?
Robbie looks to the last bit of sun sinking between his legs. He shifts
and kneels next to Nava, still lying in the dirt, still with the cat
on her chest.
He moves the cat. The cat flees with the others and for a second
Robbie watches Nava's face as the sun sets, the light playing
with her indecision, where to go, which way.
His hand outstretched to help. She takes it but her eyes never leave
cattails swaying back and forth disturbing corn.
Chapter untold wanting to tell
Logan turned to Nava on their walk around the field. He turned to
prove to her she was not only one going in, he said
Robbie rides through on his tractor.
And Nava, already half-gone, already ready to lie in the golden grain
gone brown from sun-loss, already cats at her hair, scratching,
she called it, when they wanted in, said
But he never squats down.
Logan looked at his fingernails where the dirt so stained skin all the
bleach and bubble of sinkwater's blow would never pinken
that flesh. And he turned back to Nava, to compare dirt,
But she had left him
For the field, to hunt with her angled eyes, to sink into the dirt of cat
nests, circling and circling until full from hunger, full for
hunger of
That other thing.
Chapter wanton
Nava in the fields feels for her belly. The granules of dirt in her
button, she feels for, says, Breakfast, cats. Let's get breakfast,
Meows soften in Nava's hair and up from her hands, she pulls the
bottom of her lips, lies back in the dirt and grabs for dirt. Her
nails and the cats around, inside closer.
Come here, cat.
The cat does not obey. This one runs across the field for a mouse
and Nava cheers. Yes, yes, kill it.
A blade from her pocket, a knife she keeps for grain, sucking on the
green grains at the edge of the field. She stands up. It is not
too late to kill a mouse, Nava thanks. She follows with her
knife the cat to the mouse. Picks it up, guts its innards to spill
on the field and feels the meat of the rodent. The cat watches
but not long, claws at Nava's legs. She drops the mouse to
see the cat devour.
Yes, yes.
This is the right thing. The sun so high, and in its face of teeth rays
heat Nava's face. She walks to the end of the field. Dirt, little
mouse, is not the place for you. You are not a cat.
Yes, yes.
Corn floods the fields with cats and dirt. Walking out, Nava's body
grows into itself, her small breasts, her limbs, out. She
watches as she walks how she's a girl.
There's her brother. Her brother will call her. He will call many times.
She must go back.
She must shake her hair free of cats.
Chapter between the voices
Husks line the fields that Logan calls to.
Nava, dinner.
He knows she doesn't want to come and the only way is to go
digging or follow a cat. But Logan doesn't like cats.
Calls to his brother
Robbie, you go get Nava.
So Robbie goes among the husks and cats and calls for Nava,
Dinner.
Dinner,
Logan's put to use the vegetables from the garden.
And he hears from beneath a stalk on the other end of the field:
Vegetables grown from the dirt?
Robbie follows the cats in the line between the husks to the voice.
Lying in a pile of dirt Nava strokes the fur of the cat with her
dirt fingers. Her knife lay at her side, blade out.
I think so.
Nava doesn't block the sun to see Robbie, who steps over her to
make a shadow, feet on both sides of her hips.
Won't you get up and stop the stupidness?
Nava reaches for the knife, cuts off his laces and goes back to the cat.
I hope all your shoes got double knotted too tight and you can never
go barefoot.
Because to her, to her dirtied feet never constrained with shoes, with
grit between each toe, shoes are the worst of all.
Robbie takes the curse-chest out.
It's getting cold.
Dinner or weather?
Robbie looks to the last bit of sun sinking between his legs. He shifts
and kneels next to Nava, still lying in the dirt, still with the cat
on her chest.
He moves the cat. The cat flees with the others and for a second
Robbie watches Nava's face as the sun sets, the light playing
with her indecision, where to go, which way.
His hand outstretched to help. She takes it but her eyes never leave
cattails swaying back and forth disturbing corn.
Chapter untold wanting to tell
Logan turned to Nava on their walk around the field. He turned to
prove to her she was not only one going in, he said
Robbie rides through on his tractor.
And Nava, already half-gone, already ready to lie in the golden grain
gone brown from sun-loss, already cats at her hair, scratching,
she called it, when they wanted in, said
But he never squats down.
Logan looked at his fingernails where the dirt so stained skin all the
bleach and bubble of sinkwater's blow would never pinken
that flesh. And he turned back to Nava, to compare dirt,
But she had left him
For the field, to hunt with her angled eyes, to sink into the dirt of cat
nests, circling and circling until full from hunger, full for
hunger of
That other thing.
