Having kept a list of dangers living
sick in the back of my throat, having
numbered the entrances & exigencies,
having taken note of the exits at both ends
of the plane knowing one is always behind me,
having kept to myself secrets, hands, a series
of descriptions that involve the word blood,
having up-buttoned the blouse & up-stitched
the hem, having whittled a half-inch off each
pair of heels, having walked only outside
of alleyways & under streetlamps, having learned
by fistblow, by bladetooth, having found myself
inside & safe & asking my door’s lock if safety is a myth
I have locked myself into believing in order to step
from my bed, having slid from the bed & onto my knees
& there offered the blank called God both gratitude
& supplication, having wondered if there can be gratitude
without supplication, having nonetheless given thanks
for storm clouds, sugar packets, dust mites & silence,
having prayed that the war is ending, having prayed
that the war has not yet begun, having lost teeth &
the concept of virginity, having called the absence
God & God an absence, having raw-picked
the scab, having stone-packed my pockets before walking
out of the river, having thanked the night for hiding
the dumb wasted furniture of what I call a life, having given
my best plans & laid down in the rain, having noticed
in the oil an iridescence spectacular, having held a winged
insect in my hand & seen on its wings the same
shimmer & sheen before it asked its wings to fly
again & I stood watching, having after all this no choice
but to stay here, to stand & to marvel, to see & to see.
