To Make a Fortress from All These Blessings

--

As the silent clingings swept through me—

Dancing as cubes in a glass dance

Like an under-furnished romance, lacking

Plot and history, confined to hidden pleas—

The dresser shook with fervent mystery

Clanging its drawers like mouths shuddering closed

Remembering the gnashing of cloth between wood

And rusting handles meant to misinterpret as they should.

--

But all this is nothing, you say.

--

While the teachings of tomes brushed by me—

Greek and Roman scholars bending in divine haste

To scribble me some supple formula and sweetbread taste

To ignite my flowers into flames of petals, humanely working

For the world—

Athena’s columns shook with fury and with rage

(I know not why she sweats her youth

Though she does because I know not how or why)

And towers fell and empires expired

All in one night and all in one dye (the color of your mint breath).

--

But none of this is meaningful, you say.

--

When ceilings clung to attics, floors to walls—

I sobered up the concrete lying bare, glaring

At me as though I’d done this, done this all

As though I’d act upon despair—

Architects grew solemn in belief

That Greek and the peak of Athena’s beautiful reign

had fallen. Gone like dust on a road, tires stalling.

I offered her my colored-marble skin

Glinting a smile so human on my murder-face.

But her womb was stone and froze my gift to jade

So I fled. I am the queen of spades.

--

And maybe that will matter, you say,

And I think I must agree.

--