How to love 
bad luck girl bodies and
why we break mirrors.

1. 
My lovers keep dust pans 
in their backpacks. 
They have deep pockets. 
to stuff extra mittens. 
They know
I punch mirrors sometimes
and they never let me pick
up the pieces of bad luck 
all alone-- pull the purple
and blue glass
from my knuckles and laugh
at all the confetti-mess
we make on the kitchen table--
They know I don't eat anything
other than sleet, poetry,
and my own ceiling--
call me rose thorn
call me pink rabbit's foot--

2.
Now we've got seven
years to figure ourselves out.
We can make stained glass
windows where there used
to be bathroom sinks--
take showers in the sleet
and wash our hair away
until we are left as a pile
of scabby leaves bunched by the
side of the road-- wet sleeping
bags and soggy smores--
you tell me you love 
bad lucky girl-bodies
and I say that I do too

3. 
Don't ask what
I mean when I say 
Umbrella 
Because for me it's likely
that the ceiling of the room
could begin to fall again 
and I'd need something
to catch the stars in
if I ran out of coffee mugs--
if the rain became stained
glass-- if we bled
and needed something to 
catch bad luck in--
Fuck me tonight under umbrellas 
and sleeping bags--
Peel off these leaves
so we can be naked--

4.
Learn that I only count
kissing if it happens under a ladder--
climb me to the ceiling 
and we can rain and we can
sleet and we can find some
way to wash the bad luck
out of all my cuts-- no
you didn't have to notice where
the roses grow on
my forearms-- I'm not dying
I have seven years left--

5.
If we fill the coffee mugs 
13 times we could empty
the room of all the purple mirror--
These stained glass windows
tint our skin to look like 
saints who fell in love
be accident--
I never meant to kiss
anything
other than a dove-- 
You were so quiet under the ladder
that I thought I might
just be kissing myself
in the mirror again before
     everything
     breaks
          and broke
I know you want to name me 
Judas-- but I don't hang myself--
and I don't deny him
   I speak louder than cock crows
      and leaves
I rain and umbrellas start to look a 
lot like halos and halos
look a lot like laying in leaves 
and that's where we sleep
when you forget that 
you're supposed to fill
silence with each other's lips

6.
It's funny how we cut
ourselves on confetti
and only we know
that the black cat has a name
and her eyes are made of
stained glass and she 
has the throat of a pile of leaves--
opens umbrellas in our
windows so no knows
how tightly I'm holding on
to you--
Don't leave me halo boy 
and dove feather-- 
I broke all the mirrors
so we could be alone--

7.
Did you notice the confetti 
turn into salt on
the kitchen table? The stained
glass windows followed
and the room tasted so much
like sleet
and like the ceiling
and like kissing you
when you couldn't remember
my name--
you asked if we were going
to eat today-- I told
you that you love a bad luck
girl body-- and that there
were still mirrors to pick up
and leaf scabs to
peel from my forearms-- 
I've started growing roses--
We can pretend to be saints
or at least apostles-- I have
always been a fisher of men--
not Judas men-- but men
who deny God three
times before the cock crows--
You ask me what it all has to do
with mirrors and I say
nothing 
and everything
I'm eating poetry-- I've never
kissed you under a ladder 
so give up and sleep
with me under these umbrellas--
we have seven years
and seven days in
a week to figure out 
what do with the roses
and what to do with the scars
and if you really
love me enough to fall from
the ceiling 
and shatter like a mirror
or leaves or like the salt of our
bodies we poured on the 
kitchen table.