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14th Anniversary Edition, Live Encounters Poetry & Writing Volume Six Nov-Dec 2023.
Organic: Moises, poem by Rafael E Fajer Camus.
Organic. I read the word on the packaging of the eggs I’m preparing this morning. The intended meaning is related to goodness in nature and goodness to nature. Goodness of nature.
If I eat organic my organism will function better and the world will too. It shares status with me, as a consumer, because it shows I care.
And I do care about things organic, just not these so much.
For the past year and some I’ve been exposed to a different meaning to organic. When organic is mentioned at rehab, in a clinical setting, the word carries a more treacherous weight.
Moises
I wake up to him standing next to my bed. He looks angry. Confused. I ask him what’s going on.
I’m going to fuck you up.
He and I, we speak English with each other.
You went into my body, and you took a shit. I’m going to fuck you up.
He’s a boxer. His fists are down. His voice is menacing but his body is still. I slowly get up and walk towards the door, face front, never giving him my back.
Moises, I was asleep. You saw me. I didn’t take a shit in your body. You know me.
I know him too. Moises looks at me, lifts his fists.
You took a shit in me. I’m going to fuck you up.
I know if I run, he’ll chase me and catch up with me. I cock my head to the side. A non-threatening animal.
Moises, why do you think it’s me?
I have had the experience of someone coming into my body. In my case they would control it, against my will. I know the horror, the pain, the sense of betrayal.
Daisy Chavez told me.
Daisy Chavez is one of his personalities. She’s a liar and a trickster. She’s also his most habitual lover.
Did you see the shit?
He thinks.
No.
Remember what happened last week with Daisy?
Yes.
What happened?
She told me she bought cake for me, and she didn’t.
What was her reaction?
She laughed.
Moises fists relax. His arms to his side.
Ok Moi, you didn’t see the shit. Could she be lying? Could it be another joke?
His head goes down. He’s looking at his shoes. Maybe he’s talking to one of his other personalities. He comes towards me. I’m scared. He hugs me. When the hugging stops, I go to the bathroom. I empty my bowels. Relief, both physical and mental. I hear him singing his gleeful mantra:
Who loves Daisy Chavez? Moises Manriquez.
For reals?
Moises has been there for 5 years now. He is going nowhere. He used PCP, mostly.
Organic. It describes irreversible damage to the brain and maybe some other vital organs. It means the person in question is screwed.
When I crack the organic eggs and scramble them, I think of Moises.
© Rafael E. Fajer Camus
Rafael E. Fajer Camus is a Mexican writer who was educated at NYU and Naropa University. He has travelled extensively and has lived in Mexico City, Paris, and NYC. He’s been through a few rehab treatments in the US and Mexico. He’s also spent time in psychiatric treatment centers. He’s now aware that he’s not a cyborg destined to settle humans on Mars and is working on his first book Notes on the Borderline from which Organic: Moises is an excerpt. https://rafaelfajer.com/