• Vol. 01
  • Chapter 08
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Well what next?
I might as well
linger in my bath.

Argos eyes
may be watching me,
I don’t care–
for all their peacock gleam.

Take that telephone
off the hook.
Hello hello?
Olympus calling.

The God Father
wants to know:
Did I like his gift?

Later, Old Man. I’m sipping
my gin sling.
Loving the glow
of red candles on my skin–



watching the bubbles
lay their rainbow touch
in this humid air.

Admiring the
earth tulips
rich and dark from tubers,
sprung out of dark loam–

I’m here now, bride to this dark
home of strife
and cut of pain,
like my husband’s first

plunge upon
the marriage bed, the struggle
and groan of it,
the bright bloody flare of it

the orange he sucked from between
my teeth,
snap of the strand;
pearls, rolling down my belly

scattering on the floor,
him murmuring,
"I’ll make it better."