Fireproof Leaving you was a matter of walking away, I thought,
then walking further. His grease, teeth, his wolf breath: I took him in.
What if there was wine? There was wine. What if there was vodka?
It wasn't that much wine. What if he had a gun?
There was no gun. I took him in and trotted back to you, obedient,
holding this sin like a dead bird in my mouth, dropping it at your feet,
this gift. Now make the bitch of me, my love:
Turn loose my eyes, let my jaw drop. My tongue, a leash on the bad mutt.
These marble knuckles, fatty and loud. Punch the sweat
from my collarbone—rainwater off a cheap awning, blood untunneling.
Evict me. I am stubborn with tenants no one will miss.
I am a basement of dumb boiler parts, sometimes mistaken for a plan.
I am down to my last lightbulb, landlord pounding at the door
with your fists, your voice: Even fireproof buildings have their escapes.
Even the tame dogs dream of biting clear to the bone.
Sandra Beasley**************
http://www.sandrabeasley.com/Sandra Beasley is the author of I Was the Jukebox, winner of the 2009 Barnard Women Poets Prize, selected by Joy Harjo and forthcoming from W. W. Norton. The prize is for the best second collection of poems by an American woman poet. Her debut book, Theories of Falling, was selected by Marie Howe as the winner of the 2007 New Issues Poetry Prize (New Issues Poetry and Prose, 2008). Recent work can be found in AGNI online, Blackbird, Barrelhouse, and Black Warrior Review, which published Bitch and Brew: Sestinas in their chapbook series. Her work has been anthologized on Verse Daily and in 2005 Best New Poets, Bedside Guide to No Tell Motel (Second Story), and the forthcoming Online Writing: The Best of the First Ten Years.
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:hi:
RL