The sound of you chewing broken glass

The way it crunched beneath your feet after the mirror broke

The best way to get blood out of clothes is
To accept that you can’t

On good days
You are a gumpy smiled
Heavy footed
Head hanger
Curls that branch out like leaves
So much weight your neck branch hangs heavy

And I know there are days you want to die
Like Friday

And I’m glad you are still afraid enough of leaving
That you got your palm instead of wrist

In the tremble
In the passion

We wrestled on broken glass
Until I pinned you down
I’ve never had someone else’s blood on my face before
It tasted metallic and warm
Sprayed a fine mist when I blew it from my lips

Every page in every book
Remembers the tree that it came from

We stole life from the same tree
So many of our pages come from the same story

Of father who left mother
But came back to care for sick son
And made you

Thanks to me
He made you

I think how crunching glass
Sounds so much like ice breaking
And how cold the floor we both lay on is

And how you kept saying

I want to go home
This isn’t right
I hate you
I hate you
I just need to go home

To keep calm
I remind myself how some people
Chew with their mouth open
Sometimes
They chew on glass

"I'm thinking about what you said,"
           I said,
But I was thinking about thinking
           inside my head.
After a quiet moment
           he suddenly said,
"You talk like you talk a lot
           Inside your head."

I used to have a thesaurus in place of my heart,
fifty-thousand words to say how I hoped
I would someday feel.
In place of love, I had a fountain pen with a bent nib.
Instead of kisses, I had wirebound sketchbooks.
While other girls, giggling, wrapped
   phone cords around their fingers,
I wrapped sestinas in proper syllabics around enjambements.
        tiny crushes were
        replaced by Haiku gently
        wafting on the page
Love sick sighs were ignored in an echoing of
   alliteration and onomatopoeia,
and now I look at you and I rack my heart,
but I can't come up with the right . . . .

Surely
your eyes smile like
sunflowers in August
dropping their seeds
from skyscraper heights
as you hang from your cross
nailed together by your own
rough-hewn hands
dropping their seeds
as the wind runs its fingers
through the weeds
windchiming like a
platinum-plated Joni Mitchell
and surely you touched mine
surely surely surely
and I wish like Christmas Eve
                      like a first junior high dance
                      like a death bed watch
that I could afford even
a bottle of you
but the demand for you is high
and the supply . . .
         well, you know, there's never enough
and you keep raising the price and
surely surely surely
                    you know, there's never enough
so I lie here
among the weeds
seeking out your seeds
some small, priceless part of you
as you rise out of my reach
                         like a house with a seaside view
                         like a villa in Tuscany
                         like gold
which you are
surely surely surely
you are
with your sunflower eyes
and your Christmas Eve wishes
you pay for my sins
dropping your seeds and
surely surely surely
                     you know, there's never enough

To the simple minded man
This day would have been like the rest

Would have been an overdone steak dinner
Alone

But he plays a broken bone remix
Of ex-lover’s gritted teeth

It is the click in his jaw over steak
That reminds him of the gnashing

He nurses a beer
In between helpings

But there’s always the click
A painful metronome
For past music
When he was capable of lapping the language out of her mouth

Days when he was all noise
Like a hallway echo
Or a fist through drywall
Or a nightmare gasp

But now all he needs is the cotton he eats
To soak up the sound

So he won’t have to listen to himself keep sayin’

There used to be this growl my gut made
For your bitter music
When we choreographed a collision
Of bone
And breath
And teeth that touched when I still thought I wasn’t pressing hard enough

The masticating click
Reminds him of her smile

It hurts his jaw
And his memory
But he continues making her painful sound
Like it might actually bring her back

And it does a little
Just for today

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow is too far away