Sunday morning and I’m tucking
piano sonatas in my skirt.
He’s setting the gun and I’m
making peace blankets.
He is war.
I am I am I am air.

Tuesday night and he’s floating
candles on lily pads off the canoe.
I’m wetting my feet.
He’s rowing soundlessly
dreaming of geography
and I’m hitching my skirt
to jump into the water.

His pinstripe jacket looks better
on the floor
Wednesday afternoon
he’s apologizing but I’m too late
pressing my lips to the door
I throw open
the IamIamIam air prayer
he’s apologizing but
setting the gun
clicking in ammunition
aiming aiming at my heart…

When he pulled the trigger
I bet I bled music notes.