sailor's muse

> right foot in the air, left foot-
right on the ground. i lean on it, my back-
arched back. i’ll fall, but not just yet. it’s okay.
he’ll come back,
soon.
>

> the room’s black, by the way,
but the spotlight loves me still.
she always has, always will.
i wish she’d stay-
forever.
>

> look at my necklace today, though.
it’s a thick old piece of rope,
coarse, stronger than diamonds or gold,
and, of course, formidably tight. it fits-
right at the bulk of my throat,
at the border where my face turns blue.
it’s knotted, like any gentleman’s promise,
and crossed by my sailor columbus.
the excess tugs behind me; pulls, pulls, pulls,
but i fall not. not-
yet.
>

> my arms float. they’re by my side still –
thank the angels for that – and they flap.
just a little more energy, just at the right angle, and-
they’ll take me flying. just you wait, just give me-
time.
>

> hurry. the wedding dress sags if i get old.
we can’t afford that, now.
no. he’ll come back-
anytime.
>

> now, now, i’m in the blinding yellow circle,
though my eyes don’t see much anyway.
flap, flap, bitch. don’t think. don’t think at all. you’re-
far too pretty for that. even without the makeup,
unless there’s really none. skip the pinks and smoke the reds,
but the rest can stay for-
now.
>

> you can’t run, of course;
he’ll find you. he’ll pull you by the hair,
bald eagle. flap, flap.
is it true, though? is that-
a rash on your neck?
was it the rope or his fist,
or a swipe of your wrist?
don’t die yet, either way.
live for him; live another-
day.
>