Geographies

Kathryn Schiff

Lonely, vulnerable, I chose
the one with a gun—
wrong choice.
Headlights right on time:
my rescue.

Creaky old door / loud floorboards.
Someone asleep across the room.
A clanking radiator / bed pushed up against it.
Two voices
giggling / wet sounds.

Acting as if the bed is our own.
Unfed dogs howling at the door.

Mattress on the floor / violence.
A solar system spinning / sponge-painted clouds.

He buys red / two bottles.
We drink from canning jars.
Only the stars stay sober.

Don’t kiss her / walk up those stairs.
Don’t eat that pie / do not
reach for her hand.
Look away from the light,
close your ears.

My fetus’s final meal:
plain bagel with cream cheese.

Who knows the history of this confluence?
Above two rivers we reach
for each other, poised on a platform
built for a dignitary who never
                                     arrived.