Rita Rouvalis Chapman Taking Account After Divorce

I have turned my back and cannot see

what is behind me


I have numbered the countable things

the things I have poured

from palm to palm

each failed hymn that did

not rise from my throat


I have measured god and time and gold

The kisses that thumbed me in the eye


What waits behind me taps my shoulder and runs away

It is a river that grows smaller under my burning touch


I will not spin around

I can’t help spinning around

The spinning is killing me


The room is stuffy and my lungs won’t fill

I open a window and the rain comes in

and no one can live that way either


Rust imposes itself in the night.


What is red in me grows like cash in the bank


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