there's one thing I will never forget,
when a man tells you things like
"I like good clothes, fast cars,
whiskey,
and you."
run as far as your heels will take you,
hell,
take the first train to
some city in the middle of nowhere
shed your fur coat and fishnets
for some red flannel and boots.
there is nothing more dangerous
than the fancy of a man.
my mother always told me that,
when she'd brush out my taut blonde curls
into thin, sleek waves.
she brushed my hair that way until
my ******* grew humble and my legs
felt more like fins, slicing through the cold winters
and hot summers like a pair of scissor blades
dancing on the wind,
like my growing dreams, as a poet, an old soul, and a woman.
I remember the first time I tasted sin
was in the back of that old bar in Arkansas
taking shots of whiskey and dancing
in the hot moonlight
my summer dress slipped off as we fell
off the dock
two bodies fumbling through the folds
of icy water, your hands pressing mine into your stomach, screaming
crisply through the dark of night
"can you feel the beating of my heart?"
mama took me to church and washed your name out of my mouth
with song and scripture, tied me to the altar
and wouldn't let me run.
now I'm always running, running from her, running to you,
my legs more like fins, once again
slicing through hotel sheets, hot baths, and
my dreams, lord, my dreams
simply aged nightmares
those complex beasts await me here
one more whiskey, love,
and I swear
I will find you.