She writes
her missing pages
in the mist on a windowpane

allowing both of us to read
her whole story
for the first time:

hot snakes
dragging through
the pelvis

and morphine
releasing her body
to warmth
once everything had been removed.


The blue light shed by the rain
sharpens her face.

We know why she can’t let go:
it is revenge she wants

for waking daily
with memories too big
for her to hold

her womb too gaping
for the largest
opiate bag to fill.


“I imagine
private detectives watching him,
reporting every detail to me
in manilla envelopes.

I am moving in on his life,
closing round like a python.

Making him know”