"Heavy Metal"

Each morning I try to pull
the right door open, bend
into the day, shoulders ready.
I hunt among the hangers
for clothes to cover my dismay,
search among my socks
for a matching smile.

At night I sit on the tub
and hold my head. I’ve been
right out straight all day.
Bruised my arms
carrying so much weight.
My heart is a magnet.
I pull off safety pins and paper clips
to fill the sink. I touch a loose nut
to my tongue and taste
the bitter missing screw.

When I breathe,
exhaustion fills my lungs
like oil. I hear tungsten
burning in the light, feel
the heavy air pressing me.
Edison kissed me. Tesla slipped
me wires beside the Colorado.

I pin my nightgown shut
and smell the stew meat
burning in the dark.


"Blowing it up"

I can manage a balloon,
the way its skin expands, a slow intrusion
into the air in front of my face,
its color like a wild paint pot spilled
in the vivid cleft of circle.
I can put up with this,
this hearty swelling, sharp push of joy,
even though my mind is on
the way the father slammed his hand
down on the desk at the last conference,
the way his voice scraped like a hawk’s
talons into my glittering skin.
It’s only the pop that I fear, the spit back
ending, the lost force of my lungs,
the way the shred of balloon
hangs at the end, small,
limp, defeated.