for Lauren, B, K, M, C, and J

I’m afraid you think me a slut.
In my grief, I have called upon men:
friends, strangers, and climbed
into their lips, settled on their tongue
like a lozenge, buried myself in the
curve of their neck, arced like a sliver
of moon in their arms.
But doesn’t a slut want penetration? Release?
I didn’t want to release anything; I wanted
someone to lie upon me and crush
the memories out, I wanted to
feel the want but not to have it.
I wanted to lie straight against them
and slip into their body like sliding
a tray into an oven, become someone
else for a while, a man who wants
this broken woman who has made up
her face to look beautiful,
ripe for the taking.

12/31/2006

Posted on 12/31/2006
Copyright © 2024 Lisa Marie Brodsky