To be rope ravel

winging out

of syncopation.

Tried trying.

Just once I wanted

to hit & hold the person

who could hit & hold

me down.

I wanted the bruise

& the voice that was sorry.

Terror to give up control—

terror to name it.

There was a bottle.

There was a bottleneck exit.

THE BRUTE / BRUTE HEART

After Pennsylvania, I couldn’t breathe.

—LUCIE BROCK-BROIDO

The facts are: I drove all night through the mountains to get away from him

I cut up my credit cards to prove I would not leave him

I woke up in the hospital

to bonesaw / brushfire / thralldom

the pieces were out of order there was glass in my cheek

I tried to swallow an entire bottle I tried to leave

without giving away my name I was not lost

I listed no forwarding address

There was a reason why I named the dog Valor

If I was silent I’d learned the virtue

of protecting my mouth at least

I was going home

to the house between the cemeteries

to the redbud the willow trees

the heavy muck-wet woods

I loved & in my absence

the house had been torn down

to make more space

for the dead

I stood there breathing

It felt like

sliding a hand through loose dirt looking

for tendrils & pockets of air

It’s easy to be angry

about how much hope there is

in reaching

The whole house gone

& so many little monuments

to the wrong thing

In the bare yard

all of my good trees

still framed the hole

where the house had been standing

In my new life whatever I claimed

I didn’t feel it was mine

How easily I could be a river dragged

a gray car raised up from the bottom dripping

Already I was on a string I could be lurched up

out of hiding & the evidence tagged

He took the money he said I made him crazy it was my fault

What was wrong with me how could I ever think

I could leave was I really so stupid he said

he would call the police

he set my furniture on fire he said

he would drive my dog to the pound if I went out

I’d like to say now that he was just a list of grievances

Who else would try so hard on someone so fucking worthless

is some kind of war proposal

that no longer works on me

What I want is a permanent figure

I want a marker here to separate

The Time Before from The Time Now

One ivied-over angel

for a woman with no known name & no known history

A monument for the disappearance of X

for the opening of a deep well in which I would tread water

for the blood to tide

for the trees to fall

for 100 years of winter

II: GIRL SAINTS

To assess the damage is a dangerous act.

—CHERRÍE MORAGA

GIRL SAINTS