tapped down the chimney

smoked

the fire we were trying out

a new kind of

cracker.

A slice of cheese

on the knife. This domestic scene,

new to me, precious, it could have been

the Fifties. Until

your phone

lights up. You stare at the screen.

Damn, you say. Damn, damn.

I freeze. Choke

on a seed

and sleep

for a hundred years.

By midday the wood

is empty of princes and the sink

is streaked with bile.

I’ll never eat

that cheese again,

or thread that dull needle, touch

the jar of glue.

Many nights later you come,

tapping at the glass,

a wolf in wolves’ clothing: what time is it?

What day?

Shh, you say, sh sh.

Strike a match.

Haven’t you cleaned? you wonder.

A beetle in the kettle. It reeks in here.

I reach for your belt.

Making my own coffin.

THE FOOL

THE FOOL

The woodcutter saw the marks on my face, heard me

scream when you said you would not come for a week,

saw you through the window pushing me against the wall,

just hard enough to rattle the glass, your arm against my

throat and you saying Stop. Just like in bed but different,

I didn’t scream, then, no one could hear you fucking me,

that was the rule, my favorite rule, I relished it, that silence;

now it chokes me. Your face close enough for me to see the

red thread in your eyes, the gray lines in your teeth: Just

be quiet, you hissed. The room blacked out behind you. I

was shrunk to the size of your thumb. When you let me go

I rolled along the wall, coughing; I saw him, on the path,

looking in, no expression; your hands shaking on your

keys. The fire spat a cinder onto the rug and you crushed it

beneath your boot. My head on the thick leather laces. How

did he know you weren’t killing me? Did I know? Did you?

Cradling the back of my neck you said Darling, get up, and I

stood. Saw the long drop down. Stepped into air

PATH

PATH

if I could have seen the forest for the trees

if I could have seen the forest from afar and stayed afar

if I could have known how deep the woods went

if I could have gone less quickly

if I could have gone less deeply, if I could have gone less

if I could have known the danger

if I could have heeded what I did know, that I was the danger

making danger

if I could have held on to something other than your silk side

if I could have kept my hands from seeking that silk so often

if I could stop all this salt

if I could stop seeing these trees

if I could stop the branches of these trees, stop their budding,

their shedding,

their dying, their deaths

how they astound me