Marriage Retrograde
Mercury Retrograde
Every wire crossed.
Husband on the rag
Little love lost.
The cold side of the bed
Interstellar cosmic frost.
The voices in my head:
am I the serpent you wed?
Pushed up against the wall.
Toddler daughter watches all.
Safety is a myth you make,
a crumbling nest of heartbreak.
Always heed the raven call.
He hates because he loves, is all.
Small Kindness
The nurses
offer socks,
a blanket,
tape to keep
the gown
shut.
Halfway
through the
radiologist takes
my mask and glasses,
tells me I remind him
of his sister. She’s
beautiful, he says,
patting my IV
free arm.
The machine
whirs to life,
issues commands:
Breathe
Don’t breathe.
Breathe.
Don’t swallow.
Chin up.
Chin down.
Eyes shut
against the
ultraviolet
light.
It’s a portal
another truth
teller.
I have
nothing
left to hide.