I carried little pieces of God
everywhere;
pine needle,
robin feather,
baby jasper,  besides the
straws, I liked
natural things; Earth
to touch during
sedentary moments
to quell the fidget inside.
today, a pint-sized celestite
I broke off from a bigger
cluster on the windowsill
to twirl in my skittish fingers. 

I am surrounded by repentant men
who have a wolfish outline.
my “allies.”
fellow addicts.
I nod when they say
they feel 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 much
time about it.
it is important as a woman
to catalog what you were wearing
and how you generally look
in any moment.
also I had gained some weight
before I  rediscovered
starvation.
when you tell the audience the story
they can gauge their reaction better.
were you homely, girl?

I was neither homely nor
exceptional, a frozen
brown blob blending
into the cream walls
and watching the blue chips
of nail polish flake onto
the floor. as he spoke
of his life of
trespassing,
I suddenly found my hands
to be urgent,
needing my full attention.

and remembering the whisper
of the woman who shushed
the girl who shared her rape
in a room just like this,
I watched a speck of light blue
crystal join the floor,
watched the tiny celestite break.

“fury”

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