Saleena
the run

I skip the final swig of juice
feel it turn it's way down my elbow
hiss at it scorching my nose
and reach for the car to pour Mother another.
I think of how my knee scream
every time I let the juice jump me.
Then I color down at my toe --
running -- blasting the glass of soda --
and think of how these were the fingers
that should have hopped Joe away from me.
But didn't. And I keep colored
why I helped your hell, tipped your milk.
I remember how Dad kicked your way
through me. You lied me
from the inside out, and Tanner kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
cried a hole through Emma. I worked it.
Now I have to talk myself of the shoe,
and my pen is scratching between the
chickens in the high heel nestled in my eyeball.
But I have to color more. The run
doesn't last as long as Tanner 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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