i am never more beautiful than i am
in the heat of the moment when
your heat is glowing from my cheeks.
i am never more mobile than i am when
your body leaves, your mouth wanders,
the lights in the kitchen go dim.
i am never more trenchant than
when everything between us
is abrupt and furious and sharp.
i am never more soft than i can be
when your pressure runs down
my spine in an act of submission.
i am never more intense than
when i learn to be by myself again,
the long wait after the long love.
i am never less sure of myself
than when you peel my skin back,
demand the heartbeat as payment.

your body has been cold all day.
if you were dead, i think your skin might
be grey, but i'm not sure.
your body has been silent, still,
sitting there skinning my knees with
jagged fingernails: i will not be afraid
of what happens when you decide
to finally be annoyed with me.
your body has been through the mud,
dragged kicking and screaming,
and the only thing i can think is
maturity means not kicking so hard.
your lungs turn black, your hands
turn hard, your eyes turn back in your head,
and even noisome nuisance television
can't bring you to your senses.
your body has been bruised all day,
and i wonder if i'm the one who
mauled you that way. or was it the
stereotyping of you or this relationship
(i am constantly nagging you! you
are never good enough for me!) that has
finally done away with your motion and warmth.
your face, expressionless, implicates me
in some deep unhappy plot, something our bodies
lying together at night back to back
does nothing to dispell. if you
opened your mouth now to lie to me,
i should be surprised at the action of it.

caution. extended absence, my mind from body, my heart from my
contents under pressure. ribs: what is lost, where has it gone? a
do not shake. sort of permanence, this lack of sensibility. your
do not use near open flame. hand to hold, my stiff upper lip, each
store at constant temperature. day a pressure to perform. you are
follow safety procedures. my sunshine, my only sunshine; rock-a-bye
highly flammable. baby, on the treetop. each word a grain of sand,
wash skin thoroughly with soap. some salt to rub into the wound.
in case of contact with eyes, you'll be blind in five minutes flat.

my mother's friend you are, and never can
be more to me; the older man who gently
whispers into upturned ears, who sweet and quiet
makes excuses. you spoke to me, and i half-ran
into the room where women stand. you spoke, and i began
to respond in dulcet dumbness, your mythic epic
speech leaving me at odds with myself. but that is not
what i meant, not what i meant at all, and i half-ran
to the parlor where women stand and strain
for high ideas, like art and love, and can't attain.
i settle on the divan to hear each rant
in each simple searing voice. the pear, the peach,
still life and michaelangelo on the mantle, each
is for you: each waiting in its own sweet way,
as i wait for your eyes to give me sway
perhaps in your heart or mind. your youth is dim,
your face hides regret as you scan my face;
i should have been a pair of dark seashells
opening on the sea floor to reveal a pearl.

Facebook status updates that i can't actually write.

Elaine has nightmares about waking up in Sudan one day.
Elaine is wondering why god is separated from us.
Elaine never wanted to be a music major anyways.
Elaine should probably just go ahead and be a bulimic.
Elaine is dying slowly of academic fatigue.
Elaine justifies the racism of black people against white people.
Elaine wants to be an alcoholic when she grows up.
Elaine is not mature enough to appreciate you.
Elaine has learned to accept the suburban dream as a viable future.
Elaine thinks this is the fall of the Roman empire, take two.
Elaine would really rather not.

antidisestablishmentarianism.

dieties blame the tides of rain, the schism;
satan bares disease, the sable mess
of bile. nests of harm, a means of stress
the same as sears established mannerisms.
she builds hate, a bliss of ash and shame
to house the taste of bare and darted flesh
that rests on detested land. she rends the mesh
that ties back bullets, takes minimal aim.
heaven and hell in earnest idyll take sides
and eat the woman bare; her limbs are able
to sate the team, her heart a lantern for rest,
a beam to follow in search of fear. she dies,
is maimed for lack of love; is a seminal handle
on the earth, and she bleeds to die so blessed.

weak pages, years of what i don't recall,
and photos of times i can't remember-- a sign
of ailing brain, or ailing times? the line
of life, all bumps and curves, a hill so tall
it can't be climbed, alone. and you, helpmate,
will run when paths get steep; you close when doors
swing wide. i climb the stairs, i own these floors
and all their tiles, the urge that i can't sate.
the lake was gold, the sky was blue and i
was caught between you and the urge to fly.
the sand was dark, the water cold and you
had hands in earth, in me, in all things true.
the sun burned holes into our eyes, but all
i saw was us, the hill, and dreams grown tall.

Hagar

Though princess in Egypt I once was
(and surely, by blood, still am)
my body is given, to sell or to keep,
just as a calf or a lamb.

Fathered by Pharaoh of wandering hands
and mothered by all of his harem,
doomed to remember for all of my life
what God did for Sarah among them.

She, married woman, would not stay away
when clearly the Pharaoh would have her;
then cornered, she shrieked for her heaven on high
and heaven saw fit to answer.

The Pharaoh was stung, as if millions of bees
swarmed down in Sarah's defense,
and annoyed as he was, he could not deny
her God (or her lack of sense).

Astounded, he called for his daughter Hagar
and I ran to answer his call.
Not knowing his plans to give me as slave,
I happily entered his hall.

“Better she serves one so worthy as this,
than revels in earthly joys,”
the Pharaoh declares, and so it shall be,
a gift for my father's new toy.

And now, my mistress will give me again,
a gift for her husband to keep;
if she were not barren, the bed would be hers
but I am the sacrificed sheep.

Bound to this woman who could not conceal
her prideful pretensions, so vain!
I am mate to a man not my spouse or my choice,
and will bear Sarah's lack of pain.