All the Joy that was Mine
A part of me (my soul? my heart?) unfurls
As if it were a rainbow sent out through
A flame, or, opened, by his head of curls,
A fan of ivory and silk, gems (blue,
Set sapphires, topaz, opals) spreads new life
Throughout expanding ribcage here inside
My hairy chest. I would not be his wife,
Nor like the mist of Ireland be his bride,
For marriage is a property of blood —
Or less — and I desire infinity,
Immortal colors deeper than a flood,
Masculine fathoms like the Trinity.
Why settle for a wedding trope?
Why slither down divorce’s female slope?