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The Slaying

     and all this writing on the wall oh I can read between the lines

~ Dire Straits

The old art room

alone there with light

from the canyon

spilling in through Spanish windows

I was thinking about

your hands at work

 

touching color to canvas

I wanted them

to touch me

while I busied myself

in the dark

jiggling images in trays

my vinegar cave

palms wet

the crimson glow

of miniature mouths

and eyes

floating up through chemicals

my world

coming into focus

This was the beginning

where commandments were written

on hours made of water

explosions

in my private parts

colorful displays

like fireworks in fountains

no one but us

could see

When I finally came of age

and ran

the mountain down

every inch

of me liquefied

I wandered

another hundred years

through dry deserts

graffitied by

circling vultures

This was a long time ago

Emily Dickinson

understands

She hands over

 

her tidy white bloomers

and I wrap

my best appendages

notes from

the back of my throat

ready to unreel

the imaginary

I’m coming home

with my sins intact

having cleared

the giant wailing

crags of

mandibles oceans

of disruption

I’ve buried

myself on this

shore deep in ash

barely a flame

kept alive

The sea no longer terrifies

but erases

the suitors’ gaze

overgrown like cancer

lines woven in sand

a scaffolding of wombs

I unravel the loom

and begin the story again