The champion boxer
turned alcoholic

wandered the town's
railroad tracks until death.

After the funeral
his wife spent

her days thumbling
through newspaper

newspaper clippings
awaiting his resurrection.

return.

"you can do what you want with my body"
she said with his hands at her throat
"oh but you cannot touch what is spirit,"
"my life is not yours to be owned"*
all the time it has taken to speak up
and show you the woman I be
has been counted itself a commission
for everything you didn't seek
I will love you today and tomorrow
and look at the past without fear
rebuking the source of your anger
with all that I have while I'm here
see, my mother and father are with me
in Truth and in Spirit and flesh
and today I am stronger than ever
for you and for me and for them

tell me how you'd romance this stone as I lay unnerved by the wind of you. tell me how you'd keep my body cold and my mind warm as you hold me between yours fingers, tell me you'll love me til I die be it tomorrow or the next day, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me tell me that my lungs won't ache after you've skipped me across the pond to drown, tell me how it is you plan to romance this stone. and I swear I'll never leave you.

she covers mirrors to hide the light, only ever showers at night when she can't glow, stays certain beneath this winter's dry cloak and breathes heavy like a sea bended on her ex-lover's knee. she hugs the sky with her mind's eye and pukes in mellow shades of green. she hides in front of open doors, kisses her swollen feet, pounds her head against brick walls and waits to bleed. she holds her happiness within the browning palm of her hands and watches the ripples of the wind blow her away.