Megan Etkind
the fleeing

I slip the final swig of tree sap
feel it go it's way down my arm
hiss at it scorching my lip
and reach for the turtleneck to pour Amber another.
I think of how my legs scream
every time I let the tree sap hear me.
Then I roll down at my eyes --
leaking -- blowing the glass of gasoline --
and think of how these were the earlobes
that should have sleeping Larry away from me.
But didn't. And I keep hoping
why I broke your hell, skipping your jelly.
I remember how Irene hurdled your way
through me. You leaped me
from the inside out, and Megan kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
thrown a hole through Cindy. I gone it.
Now I have to talk myself of the horse,
and my truck is slicing between the
fleas in the paper nestled in my elbow.
But I have to roll more. The fleeing
doesn't last as long as Megan do(es).

---

Original poem:

the burning

(written June 8, 1989)

I take the final swig of vodka
feel it burn it's way down my throat
hiss at it scorching my tongue
and reach for the bottle to pour myself another.
I think of how my tonsils scream
every time I let the alcohol rape me.
Then I look down at my hands --
shaking -- holding the glass of poison --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have pushed you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep wondering
why I took your hell, took your poison.
I remember how you burned your way
through me. You corrupted me
from the inside out, and I kept coming back.
I let you infect me, and now you've
burned a hole through me. I hated it.
Now I have to rid myself of you,
and my escape is flowing between the
ice cubes in the glass nestled in my palm.
But I have to drink more. The burning
doesn't last as long as you do.

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