Look, I am shook from my
shallows, ten thousand leagues
deep – my heartbeats were war-
ships; you drowned the whole
fleet, but I'll hold on to hope like
sand holds on to heat that for all of
my troubles, you could love me, at least.

Too late when you realized
we were dancing in quicksand –
too late and too deep, and you caught
unaware; you didn't know that my love was an
ambush. You didn't know that my heart was a snare.

It's what you wanted,
right? A prime cut, cool
in the middle and hot
to the touch— toothsome
and tender, fresh from the
embers, a just-how-you-like-it bite.

That July,
I was a jar
of fireflies;
you held
me in your
hands. I
lit up your eyes.

if you asked,
I'd slide your shirt
down your shoulders;
I'd hold you. I'd heal you.
Christie, I feel you. I know you –
your nature, the real you. I'd kneel
here. I'd shield you. Christie, I need you.

All night delighting,
then a duel at dawn;
next time let's not
wait so long.

On hungry days, I hail
the hunt, squint my
eyes and spin my guns.
Your heart runs by.
I count to one.

I've had to struggle
for every good thing.
You came easy.

At least my cherry tree
will blossom soon.

I tell the girls to pick up
their clothes, to make
their beds, brush their
hair; I tell the girls to
tuck in their entitlement and
pull up their despair – there's no time.
I tell the girls to be kind, to build
up their sisters like each word is
communion and that girl is divine.

There's always one who knows
best, one who makes her best
guess, always one who just left, one
who wore her best dress; one you'll never
see again, and one you will. Amen.