Oh Salome, I thought that
once we could have loved one another,
if it weren’t for all those little things
like the severed head that you kept
in the cupboard,
fresh and wet, still on its platter.
I didn’t think it had to matter.
I wrapped it up in old newspaper,
moved it to the chest freezer in the garage,
placed it on a box of pheasant casserole.
Told you it was time to leave the past behind,
but I kept catching you in there,
freezer open, staring at his glassy eyes,
picking snowflakes from his hair.
Whispering frozen words into a frozen ear.
Words I didn’t want to hear.
I decided to pretend that there was nothing
going on, but I still couldn’t introduce you
to my friends. You didn’t have
a sense of humor and I was worried
that one might offend
and then there’d be an awkward scene
where you’d compare me to your ex.
I thought my love could help you
to rise above this boiling anger,
that your beauty could somehow compensate
for all that hate,
but even your body was
as vindictive as it was divine.
When you undressed,
so slowly, each item at a time,
you held my gaze, until finally
when you stood before me,
and turned your back, I noticed then
that even the ridges of your spine
spelled out ‘revenge’.
