in this house
we flush our problems down the toilet
so that suffering and grief is only ever the gurgle of water/ wondrous/
thirsty/ as it swallows whatever we need to get rid of.
this is how we did away with my goldfish
& they say,
too, that this is how my mama did away with my baby sister/ coathanger and toilet/
felt like wet paint. said it was all dark
/and warm red.
in this house we break teeth not bones;
here we are taught: love is not gentle or pretty.
love is mutilation, soft /soft hurt,
feeding me your bits of rotten meat/ and tender fatigue/
that when god forgets you
& you become nothing less/ or more
than carrion amongst carrion in still water,
she will give you a (new) body
so much greater