Size / / /
tell me how many men
must i have roll off me
in the night and wake
to find my husbands dead again?
black widowed into whoredom,
i am a patient woman, waiting
lifetimes, sitting on the side of the road,
ready to grasp with both hands
a lonely soul needing night-comfort.
there is a journey
through the realm of curses,
barrenness to push
in front of you—a broken cart,
God's displeasure,
call it what you will.
still, i plan to take the lion by the mane
and wrestle him till dawn,
will wear his bracelet
and pretty trinkets
until twins claw their way
into history, scarlet bound.
every step,
a bruise closer
to the serpent's head.