There Are No Honest Poems about Dead Women
What do we want from each other
after we have told our stories
do we want
to be healed do we want
mossy quiet stealing over our scars
do we want
the powerful unfrightening sister
who will make the pain go away
mother's voice in the hallway
you've done it right
the first time darling
you will never need
to do it again
Thunder grumbles on the horizon
I buy time with another story
a pale blister of air
cadenses of dead flesh
obscure the vowels.
