I went to him for half an hour
As pure woman, pure misery,
Fragile glass, breaking
Crumbling . . .
The house was silent in the heat
Only the old rafters creaking.
He drew me to him
Rudely
With a lover’s haste, an armful
Of splinters, designed to hurt and
Pregnant with pain. Why
Did I not cry then, broken glass, beware?
Why did I not tell him then that
I no longer care
Whom I
Hurt with love and often without?
With a cheap toy’s indifference
I enter others’
Lives and
Make of every trap of lust
A temporary home. On me, their
Strumming fingers may
Revive
The fond melodies of a past.
I give a wrapping to their dreams,
A woman-voice,
And a woman-smell.
And I do not ever bother to tell,
I have misplaced a father
Somewhere
And I look for him now everywhere.