Trash Haphazard

By Elee Kraljii Gardiner

I throw paintings on the gallery stairs for any taker.
Toss them like pelts, the made things in ragged action.
They quiver as they recognize me, their maker.
I blink, buck to the getaway car with my belted
accomplice, that pretty self of mine
a synonym named monster. She and I
yoked in costume, manner, method, claw
peel out twinned in blood.

After this high, the low groan of return
always we do, to the alley where we guard
our masterpieces. We, a skeleton in skins of cola cans
and burger bags, ducking in the dark
our fists closing and opening until the emergency
archivist on break flicks a butt. He takes
the paintings to hang the Great Hall by noon.
We loiter by the trash haphazard

pat horns into hair, tuck fur inside cuffs
fold names as pocket squares—three selves
or dozens more. Clearly, the paintings recognize us
as kindred. When we near them, images pixelate
and reorder at the scent of my skin
little wooden tongues split from each frame
spitting out monster’s name.

Elee KraLjii Gardiner

is the author of the award-winning poetry collection Trauma Head and serpentine loop, and the anthologies Against Death: 35 Essays on Living and V6A: Writing from Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside. A frequent collaborator with choreographers, musicians, and visual artists, Elee is currently collaborating with nature via a series of durational installations that investigate the law of thermodynamics and cultural ideas regarding the passing of time. Her recent work appears in Best Canadian Poetry, HOAX, and illiterature. Originally from Boston, Elee lives in Canada where she directs Vancouver Manuscript Intensive, a program pairing authors with mentors. eleekg.com.