From “Of Marriage: A Sequence”
Marriage as a Skateboard Flung Off a Bridge
into a creek, graffitied, stickered red,
wheels chipping and sticking on asphalt, on grass.
You want the skate parks’
clean lines, its lovely concave shape,
its bowl reflecting light, but, this, instead:
you’re mud stuck, in a bog, your knees scattered with gravel
you want to lick off, swallow down, but you know
Marriage as a Vine that Climbs the Porch
and forces the siding off the house like loose skin
and we want to chop it down but can’t
and it’s weed fused into wood, weed that wrecks
and saves the house.
Marriage as a Salad Fork
Don’t set it on the plate’s wrong side, on
the napkin’s incorrect edge.
Arrangement is all. The plate is too cold in your hands.
Remember the stutter of blue flowers
I gave you, in a plastic cup?
Marriage as Sewing Machine Bobbin
Unspool me wind me back up, ball of yarn,
skein threaded between your fingers.
Tie me down.