she had tried meditation before

sappy swirls of new-age sucking

away at her soul

a cosmopolitan fixed it up all right;

sophistication stirred with

a sour olive (she wished her lovers

could be as sweetly contradictory)


sometimes she felt eyes on her back

on those lonely nights with

nothing but cable for satisfaction

it was her shot of novocaine:

take once daily for so long

you forget when you started


he had called her Delilah

traitor, bitch


and even though he closed the

door behind him

she still heard footsteps


and every time, she wondered

if the people she imagined behind her

were real


they never appeared when

she turned around