a noose masqueraded as the hand of an
old lover in a dream-sequence grips
sinewy tendons gathered tightly like a bouquet of roses.
I. he’s new in town,
a thief who ascended here to
build a tapestry out of cries of pain, with
bodies strung up like meat on hooks and
tied to the twine of his puppeteer fingers.
i felt that soft familiar hand grip my delicate throat, and
II. looked up to see my lover, and i
met eyes with the vacant depths of Death.
that familiar flesh turned scalding, then to rope and
pushed my last breath out in a cloud of wishes and
wants that could never be spoken and
i closed my eyes.
III. modes of consciousness coiled around my body and
my feet possessed and maddened by god
kicking north south, east looking for exile at
the palace where my sisters wait.
they were spared by me without a noose of their own,
i plucked each of them free like cherries in their delicate slumbers
and took the fall for each and every one.
you do these things for love and
IV. they came back for me, you see,
climbed to the top of the mountain in a frenzy, barefooted
through the hazy fog and thick brush of red and green.
to set me free, they must
lay their voices to rest here on the dirt.
my sweet sisters reached into their throats and
pulled out each vocal chord, so elegantly,
laid them on the ground in succession from
youngest to eldest.
i could feel the warmth of the blood radiating, and
the honor on the dirt,
and i was cut free
snapped like a twig i heard far in the distance.
V. we escaped in a hurry, rummaging through that thick brush
emblazoned in our new fashion of white dresses,
thorns from rosebushes and bites from bugs.
i sang for all of us, and we traveled downstream across glittering waters
in search of warmth
inspired by agave and the messenger’s quotes in the Bacchae.