I will let that man
hunt me down
that one can breathe down my neck
he can grab my arm
pull me towards his ribs
against the length of his belly
I watch his lazy step, unhurried
his eyes sizing me up
down my body
I said—no sex
I know he does not listen
they never do
Tell me time and again
how I am—your Beatrice
—such a sweet lie.
I smile at the sentiment,
I cannot be a muse—I'm a woman.
Can you hear me, darling?
Your rose blush cheeks, childlike tears
all your efforts to help me—give in.
I don't want to be seduced, not into this
but I love watching you try—so hard.
You and your handsome young brow.
The North Star of all misguided desire.
candle burning on a quiet winter afternoon
my face towards the window—as always
fire burns my soul, but no poetry comes
floor is ice here on winter mornings
first sight of my face in the mirror
I remember us
you vowed you wrote three letters explaining everything
through snow, I walk to the mailbox every day
spring comes early
Not A Sappho
Let me not be a legend of Sappho
forlorn and dejected
wandering through unknown orchards
leaning over cliffs, desolation erasing her mind.
Let Me be divine Artemis
moving swiftly through the summer woods
wearing nothing but a weapon
stooping at the stream—sun kissed and delighted.
Cool waters rush over her runners’ feet
graceful hands washing her huntress body
smiling, sovereign, looking
at the blooming myrtle, catching two staring eyes.