Credo
       

I believe in being killed, and I believe in poetry.
Let's begin with a word, you say. That word's not clear.

(I don't believe you when you say you'll help me.)
I believe in being killed, and I believe in poetry.

The mouth of the past contorts with uncried tears.
What would it even mean to help me?

At tea a lady says, "Career."
At home a fist lifts up a glass of beer.

I believe in poetry. I believe in a will to be.
Let's begin with a word, you say. And I say, "Fear."

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Copyright © 2018 Molly Peacock All rights reserved
from The Analyst
W. W. Norton & Company
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission