Stockholm Syndrome
       

I identify most with windows and cellophane
Through me are vistas of the ocean, cold chicken
At home, my concordance reads: wife, wife, wife
In the world: possibility, remembrance
A man is a door with no knob
Put your ear to him to hear how small your room is
From the outside, I am museum quality
Inside, a drained ocean, chicken bones
We love what keeps us
It is another way of being held
I attach myself to a woman's thigh to understand smell
To a man's hand to understand the verbs take, snuff, break
When we spoon, you are the appetite, I am the slop
(See: The sea vs. the meat)
There is no victim in a hand-church
Only worship, worship, worship
If God is a revolver, I am his kindly wound
Bullet Hole is where lovers build their homes
A view of the ocean, the muscle to make it through

Tweet

Copyright © 2020 Meghan Privitello All rights reserved
from One God at a Time
YesYes Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission