Shake off the water that beads into pear-shaped drops
That is not hot enough to shatter the glass that is my drinking
That is a painted blue bowl upturned over my heart and the smell
Of falling so quickly you lose your faculties:
I am pleating the poly bedspread with damp fingers
And saying, No, I don’t mean it that way!
As his eyes take on this cast, the piss-glaze on my first ceramic plate
And he carries me like a bride and dials the water on,
The water I am shaking off that flies and catches the bright metal
Of the knife, where is it from?
We had eaten the cherries he snagged from the 7-11, sweet
And sticky, red-mouthed kisses at first then he scared me,
By doing nothing at all.
I saw the locked door, the size of his hands, I saw every man who
Has ever knocked me down — and me, running so fast, my hair smacks my face
Leaving a mark, Look what you did!
You made me—
The rest hurt too much to remember, I remember erasing everything but
Telling myself to watch the shock of the red wash, its scarlet brilliants
Coursing against the ice-white enamel, coursing from me:
I am being born I am handed to trembling arms and a smile that
Wavers, does she know.
“Alberta’s chief medical examiner, Dr. Graeme Dowling, took the unusual step of bringing the woman’s vagina into the courtroom to show the jury, saying it was necessary for them to understand the dispute over what caused the 11 cm wound.”
That she will dial on the radio and hear this, and scream
This perfect, integral part of me dissevered like me leaving her
And screaming too, in the end:
The blood would not stop and I said, At least hold my hand
You’re drunk, he said.
I don’t do stuff like that.