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Absence of a Sniper

I am watching her
not up there
not on the sandy tower
not walking, stalking, crouching, camouflaging.
catching me in her range
betraying her bulk in a field of antennas
harsh and lonely spires.
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Fragment #1

the tampon disintegrated along my cervix
soft shards of meat-soaked cotton
shredded paper turns to rice in my hands.
the kind of rice old men write on with tiny pens
hard grains, I rinse them off in the sink
peer down and squint.
HA, says the first one, wriggling off my palm, then--
Haha and HA and Hahahahahahaha
palm full of tiny, squirming worms.
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