In blonding hair and Easter shoes we girls ran ahead
of you. You followed us, we looked so small;
you put us all on pedestals.
Our trusting hands
held tightly there; our ribboned legs kicked silver
air. And in our places turned and posed while bulls
in peace below us dozed.
And you, admiring, smiled
back, not fearing hooves and horns of black. And
then you said to me, “oh yes, but dear, why don’t
you lose the dress?”
Bestseller
I’m going to write a book, and call it
The Sex Life of the Modern Young Female, or Why
It’ll Happen in the Back of a Geo; Why It Won’t Happen
in a Flower-Filled Hotel Room; Why You Probably
Won’t Come for Quite a While and Have to Totally Fake;
Why You Will Have to Go Down, and Why When You’re
There You’ll Have to Swallow Because Real Women
Don’t Spit; Why You Will, On Occasion, Have to Take
it From Behind; Why You’ll Leave in the Morning
Rubbing Your Ass and Wondering What the Hell You Were
Thinking; Why You’ll Do It Again, and Again, and Again;
and Why, No Matter How Good an Idea It Sounds,
You Never Will Switch to Girls.
That’s all I’ve
got so far, the title.
Cycle
The sight of blood puts me in a panic.
This ordinary wound, this perfectly normal feminine
injury, sends me from calm into reels of fear.
Being female isn’t what made me a victim; boys
younger than I have been found and their small bodies
cut into.
It must be the extra time I’ll
have to spend in that clear room that scares me;
already I dread it, now there is more intimacy, and
more violation.
As soon as the door is locked
and the stall is latched; I’m too alone and I’m
trapped. And part of me wants to stand up and scream,
and kick and pound until I shatter a wall. But
then what? Half naked, I’d look for someone to run
to but be raped by every eye I met. Ducking and
crying, covering and shrieking, shrinking, splitting,
shame running down every leg.
Is it any
wonder, then, that I’m so afraid?
After Sixteen Deaths (On the massacre of twelve
children and a teacher in Littleton, CO, the suicide
of their two killers, and the suicide of a friend’s
mother.)
The sidewalk was roped off that day,
so I had to take the long way through the field, and
it was raining like the devil spat on all of us
as and laughed. Some devils were out that day,
hissing in ears, but all I heard now was rain’s
little crashing, little pounding. Everyone else was
in for the day, and I felt surrounded by evil
thickets and grinning teeth. But I was in no hurry;
just now I wanted only to be out here where the
mourners weren’t. All I could hear was rain; all
I could see was rain; all I could feel was water
on the backs of my hands and streaking my hair
against my face; for once the dull press on my heart
was gone or shelved for the moment. She is gone. He
is motherless. Sixteen are childless. These tragic
days too many triggers were pulled. But now I
simply walk around this construction site; There
is rain, and puddles, and a shovel, and there is
also a giant yellow machine that tears into concrete
as if it were clay and has written on the side in
tall dark letters, KOMATSU.
Saturday Night Love Letter
So I’m sobbing on the floor again, drinking from this pale
bottle of rum, and it’s so strong I want to puke. Meanwhile your voice cries over my head and
shoulders, and it’s you telling me how you really felt, so much closer to how I did than I would have hoped. You make me sick, shaking hard with something stronger than 80 proof and stronger than love.
I’m gagging on this liquor, choking on you.
If this is it, if this is really how things are, then I can’t give you up nearly as
fully as I’d planned. Your life was torn from top to bottom that summer, and last summer I nearly died.
I thought you hated me. Is it even possible you loved me too much to keep cramming your heart back into its crack? Don’t tell me this, cruel one.
I know your voice, when you sing,
when you talk, and when it breaks over your injured throat. I didn’t think I’d ever learn how it sounds when you roll over toward the dawn in the window and say to me, simply, hello.
I’ve been there for as much as I could, and if you want me I can be there for the final pains of your gestation.
Tell me if that’s what you want. Tell me and I’ll come. Tomorrow.
Tell me. Tell me. Let me know.
Jay’s joy
so off and go, down through the woods
and push aside the leaves
don’t listen now to cracking boughs
oh just be glad to leave
my house is brick and cold cement
and rain kept out by glass
but wood is nice for shelter too
and this rain too will pass
don’t touch my arms, don’t touch my head
don’t try to catch my feet
I’ll slip right through your hands, one-two
and three will be defeat
no more of that, no more of this
don’t say another word
you’ve tried and tried to talk me down
but I just haven’t heard.
Eyes like the sickness
Forgive me
for not writing about you for this long
o eyes like blue stars
eyes like blue fields
But you see I was trying to study;
you were an interruption, you big blue distraction
I looked up for one second and there you were
so cute with your blue flowered dress and your parents.
And it was when you sat across from me and them that I saw your eyes
God, like big flat gunshots
I could tell you were awkward
and yeah I had headphones on but I heard you
having the same conversations I’ve had doing better.....been so sick.....
all the time your blond cut
like a circle neatly framing those old blues
And then it broke and went so bad
and you lost the ease you’d found with
those people across from you
I saw your heart breaking in those flat blue blades
so pretty so pretty. So pretty
And I thought you understood
is all that comes
and you’re ashamed of yourself
and suddenly hide your eyes in sunglasses
