“Ashtoreth at the Grocery” by Michelle Benningfield

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She carries a moon under her breasts.
She stops, frowns,
eyes cloud with storms,
hand pressed to her back.

Her man places a broad hand
on her fullness,
worships her perfect ripeness;

she points,
he retrieves.

Such great roundnesses
have commanded armies and kings.
She is the foundation
for empires—
.           and their destruction.

Her red shirt stretches
mostly over her belly
swelled full as a tomato.

I run my hand over
rough-skinned cantaloupes;
their rinds dimple and shrink
as if I’m Lilith—
.          a poison in The Garden
.          to be rid of.

His hand eases along her lower crescent
as he smiles up at her.

Any moment I expect
green vines will
unfurl from her navel
seek me out to snake
around my neck.

She will not tolerate deserts.

-Michelle Benningfield

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