Better you should hang me by my feet
so the blood would run out faster
when you cut my jugular with your knife-
words, and scald and pluck me good
so everyone can see my pink naked skin,
than to hang me in your Spanish pantry,
bodegón, just another interesting shape
in your arrangement, the way my feathers
contrast with your sweet blushing apples.
The path of desire
does not follow right angles
or obey the warning signs.
It cuts diagonals across vacant lots,
crawls through holes in chain-link fences
and treads on broken glass.
Bloody footprints mark the way,
one set flat and wide, the other
with narrow heels like ripe red plums.
Previously published at Contemporary American Voices, Lisa Zaran, Editor, where I was the featured poet in June 2012. To read my work and the poems of my invited guests Joanna S. Lee and Bryan Borland, scroll down the left column at Contemporary American Voices and click on the June 2012 link.