Cutthroat for Assassin

It's February, volunteer nasturtiums slice through the soil of my core
ten ships set out to cross a turbulent sea, ten sails tipping above land
rollerblading on new skates into a headwind on level ground
migraine headache richoceting up and down my spine for three days

ten ships set out to cross a turbulent sea, ten sails tipping above land
I canceled a weekend trip because my friend canceled on me, last minute
migraine headache richoceting up and down my spine for three days
He's gotten increasingly agitated and mean on the phone with me

I canceled a weekend trip because my friend canceled on me, last minute
no reason other than that he didn't want to drive in the rain
he's gotten increasingly agitated and mean on the phone with me
I told him how I felt, clicked the phone shut, pulled over, and cried

no reason other than that he didn't want to drive in the rain
my puny "what did you expect" tears, competing with windshield splatters
I told him how I felt, clicked the phone shut, pulled over, and cried
Palm Springs offers little for a single middle aged straight woman

my puny, "what did you expect" tears, competing with windshield splatters
the storm hadn't even arrived yet but maybe he was telling me it would
Palm Springs offers little for a single middle aged straight woman
maybe he knew he'd explode like a winter storm all over me, ice and cold

The storm hadn't even arrived yet but maybe he was telling me it would
a sucker punch to the gut, a violent synecdoche, I may end up tied to a tree
Maybe he knew he'd explode like a winter storm all over me, ice and cold
veins streaking the window in front of me like a cracked open rack of ribs

a sucker punch to the gut, a violent syncecdoche, I may end up tied to a tree
the other one I'd call to love has an ongoing, impossible Christian virgin fantasy
veins streaking the window in front of me like a cracked open rack of ribs
he can't scrape the last bit of meat from the Bible stories from his breastbone

the other one I'd all to love has an ongoing, impossible Christian virgin fantasy
our earliest years impress neurotic neurologic paths we trace in our fantasies
he can't scrape the last bit of meat from the Bible stories from his breastbone
Mark Twain, he's read, we've listened to Jazz together from a bar called Raxx

our earliest years impress neurotic neurologic paths we trace in our fantasies
all that music, swinging across my thighs with his hips, his dreams were not of me
Mark Twain, he's read, we've listened to Jazz together from a bar called Raxx
single mom for years, professional woman, it cracks apart in two bad dreams

all that music, swinging across my thighs with his hips, his dreams were not of me
divorce: from my house, from my job, these bad-windshield transparencies
single mom for years, professional woman, it cracks apart in two bad dreams
no one to clean up after my departure, it soils from my shoulders to the floor

divorce: from my house, from my job, these bad-windshield transparencies
the desert blinks back at me, eastward a dried up ocean, now a tinted fantasy
no one to clean up after my departure, it soils from my shoulders to the floor
It's February, volunteer nasturtiums slice through the soil of my core.

c. Feb 9, 2009 Ruth Nolan