the best poems are confessions.
somedays i want to live alone again
in the raccoon dark of the mountains.
wake up with a bird's nest knit
in my hair & tell the nestlings
stories of spearmint & fire escapes
that grow like spines on the buildings
in the city where i met you.
your thumb & forefinger
grasped the zipper on the back
of my black dress. we were married
in the way we weren't. a promise
around a promise. windows that folded
into diner menus. i want to turn around
& have you always waiting
to put me into my body. then, i want
only dresses i can zip myself.
i've heard of the coat hanger trick. i've heard
a wife is a pot full of onions in the kitchen.
wooden spoons in our eyes.
i use my fingers like wolf spiders.
take apart your face. take apart your gender.
then, there we were in the closet's mouth
making jupiter pinwheels. your legs.
barefeet. here comes the bottle.
the parking lot. feeling for a seam
to turn into a passageway. i want
your help but i also want
to get undressed alone & put on a candle.
sing until my tongue is just a ribbon.