Are fewer and farther between loneliness
and sacrament. My best friend gave her bottom half
to a skinny bar-back last week, he crawled between
her legs, two days drunk. Had to finish herself off, said,
All the same, he was the best I’ve had in a while.
We’re modestly sober, so our slim lists fatten
when we’ve had a few—we recount duct tape
and the ties that bound anything that moved. Open fists,
strawberry sundaes, the strange ones, feeding
like fawns ’til you knee them into place,
and those who talk about their fathers until dawn.
Time alone makes a woman
do things, think things that would scare you stiff.
I led a married banker to my kitchen counter
and left my mark with tooth and nail.
A young man in Jerusalem, because he had a scar like
a ribbon around his neck, or because he looked sideways,
all eyelash, my way. And at the time I thought, I could love him.
Spend a night alone with me, wet my bottle, light us
a smoke, promise not to look me in the eye—
There’s no one I’d rather be with tonight.