exercise in keeping it all in

I

I test the waters, which is to say,

I break a fucking coconut over his head.

He asked for it, or he begged. I try not to dwell

in difference. The hair of the coconut, the hair

on his head. What makes a man?

My clean hands, my

white eyes.

Your silence as you lie there holding your head.

This is not quiet.

This is the painting I made while I watched you open a packet of sugar

with your teeth. There was so much white I had to cut the cheeks

out of three different fish

and set each one on fire just to remember

innocence.

Were you ever the man I asked for.

II

Your lover came to me in the night

like snow over a burnt field.

I was in your house. I was wearing your son’s clothes.

You fed me steak—too rare—

and I felt wanted.

She ran her cold white hand

through my black hair, said

your mother must be so proud of you.