He takes a slice of my breast
and holds it up to the light
like a color slide
from a recent trek to Everest
Filing it under
the code for “going south”
he suggests when I might depart
for my exotic garden spot
that I may make my reservation in advance
I am a woman with many reservations—
some of them in Hell
and Death, I think, is no Holiday Inn
I am already booked well into today
Every room a different number
Every suite a different theme
all in the likeness of God
Presently I will be occupying the ever popular
In the Name of the Father Holy Mother Mary and Joseph
Sweet Jesus! What Could You Have Been Thinking Suite
Followed by the Suite of Remorse
Suite of Despair
Suite of Forgiveness
Suite of Redemption
How Suite of You
And finally at the end of the day
I am no doubt expected to lay my head down in the
Big Dumb Bottled Blonde Does Penance Suite
Room after room
day after day—
keyholes for eyes
opening and closing
with locks that will not turn
Labels will do that—
keep you in your place
keep you from turning into
something else
someone new
Words are different than labels
Words can free you
like a memory with a mind of its own
Well haha yours
Try to hold down a memory–
blindfold it
tie it to the bedpost
question it mercilessly
and it will give up nothing
you don’t already know
deep down inside
I take the word Miracle
and I burn it into my memory
I take the word Miracle
and I burn it into my landscape
into my tale of two cities
this brilliant marquee
he threatens to plunge into darkness–
this other MilkyWay on gas
that found its way back
from the black hole of space
I say the word Miracle
and when I open up my mouth
the nectar of a thousand shooting stars
pours forth my creamy pleasure
pointing the way to the next galaxy
Miracle knows where I’ve been
will get me where I’m going
Miracle will not turn down some stark, unknown
corner of the universe
with infiltrating lobular carcinoma for a name
–Art by Kaia Pieters