He parted with pink lips--
but pink licks and strips the
bone, the belt buckle and below.
He bit with jagged
teeth-- like weather torn shingles.
His pin stripped pants of betrayal
lay on the floor. He eyed the door,
the telephone, my sagging breasts.
He labeled me velcro; said
I should let go. But he was the one
that stayed, that slept
with his mouth open, that used
my slippers when he walked
to the bathroom.

A solid lover

You want to love me--
by day, by the rubble
of Jericho, sweet beneath
the tower of Babel. You
sit in my covered boots,
my covered wagon teeth,
believing I'll come
home, that I'll leave
the rough city
life, the straw, the pig's
pods. You call
me the whitewashed woman.
You think of me when
You bleach the curtains, the floor,
an entire continent.
You see me as Rahab--
You're waiting
for me to dangle the scarlet
rope from my window.

empezar

It might have been at the circus.
Your mouth stuffed with popcorn--
an orange kernel flake stuck between two teeth,
the clown with the red flower that
refused to spray, the acrobats that lay--
that spin like toy tops on linoleum.
I fell in love with the
lions that yawn, the
tigers and the juggling bear.
It might have begun there. Or maybe
it was at the drug store--when we
bought your mother that card
the one with yellow flowers on the
front and the inside that read
You're special. It might have been
at the dinner table, over the daisies, over
deviled eggs, over two spoons. Perhaps
that was when I swooned. Or it may
have happened in the theater, at the bar,
in the car-- with the coconut air freshener dangling
from the mirror.
Honestly, dear, I can't remember where;
either way, I'm almost certain,
there were flowers there.

call a spade a spade

Believe me, you'll never
get her that way. She likes
it dirty-- call her a tramp,
steal her purse, write on her
thighs with lipstick while
she's sleeping. Take off the
tuxedo, drop the accent--
she can't speak the language.

My fault

It comes out all over
the place-- in the store,
in church--it pinches through
doors and vows. It leaves
people hanging, the drip of
death on their face, the stab of vicious
in their back. How do you hide
your ripped underwear,
your wife's lingerie?

She used to talk about grace

Mother used to talk about grace
as if it were soap in the sink, the longest
piece of licorice, a thimble. She said
it never went hungry. She talked
about it when she was angry, she
said that was when it wanted
to come out. I thought it a monster
that would eat the whole house,
I use to pray it would pass over me.
She said it hid in things and would
surprise. I checked under my bed,
checked my shoes,
held my belly-- found nothing
in the cracks, in the space. I thought
her crazy. She used to talk about
grace like hand-me-downs, like
east and west, like buckets
of wine in the basement.
I saw it as a washcloth, on the
clothesline-- occasionally dripping,
fading in the sun.

weaved by flaming tongues above.

We twine like twigs
in a basket, in fire.
Smoke framing every
movement-- roping around
our eyes, lips-- each
sip of faith. I limp, You carry
my limbs in the order
I surrender them
to the flames. We speak
of moon more than morning--
preparing for chapped winter
freezing the tip
of tongue, the rind of repentance.