Fury Psalm 9:
For she was never a lady rocking on a porch.
She was ever leaving.
Now I am locked in an unpainted house.
Stationary but swaying.
For she was a suede glove folding and unfolding,
always ready to leave—
And I am a slipper with a doll inside it, in a closet
with the door shut, ghost-dressing words of my own.
For she was no more mother than mirror,
or moth-breath bringing forth a handful of vowels.
a map of clover ringlets leavingme Greteled
leading me from this room to an unused road.
Poem infused with phrases from Sexton and Plath. Published in Blue Unicorn, 2023.
