I carried little pieces of God
everywhere;
a pint sized celestite
I broke off from a bigger
cluster on the windowsill
to twirl in my fingers. 

I am surrounded by men
who are wolfish and
repentant, sharing stories of a
a lifetime of substance abuse.
my “allies.”
I nod when they say
things that are aptly
reflected instances in which
they felt a guilt greater
than their desire.
they usually begin with things
like
I took advantage of her
and I cross my legs.

I am wearing brown tights, brown
heeled boots and a cream turtleneck
sweater dress.  my hair is
short, uncombed and strange
and I am mostly plain.
I wear light blush, mascara and
chapstick but I don’t spend all
day about it.
it is important as a woman
to catalogue what you were wearing
and how you generally look
in any moment.
also I had gained some weight
before I  discovered that
starvation will gain you
money.
when you tell the audience the story
they can gauge reaction better.
were you homely, girl?

I was neither homely nor
exceptional,
merely watching the blue chips
of nail polish flake onto
the floor as he spoke
about his trespasses
against women,
finding my hands to be urgent,
suddenly needing my
full attention.

and remembering the whisper
of the woman who shushed
the girl who shared her rape.
watch the celestite break.

“fury”