All day Iphigenia
so far from the man I came to see.
Haven’t we tired of famous men? Shouldn’t I
have my shoulders back, chin straight—I was given graces
that distract from the tissues in my heels, this dress whose last
lost a button at the hip. Always I’m slightly out of fashion.
The orchestra moves itself like a school, each note
diamond scale. A fish turned this way—then that
I am part and whole water & music breathes
in me in proper nouns, names herself
names things I pretend I do not know
my mother, the best road home
that you do not love me
that one kind look cannot gut breast-to-throat
my silver heart, will not reach inside my mouth to hook—
take or give me a soul.
At the bar, your voice revolves as the wave that hums
my bone, untouched string instrument
beside the first chair.
Your palm, look—what you have
exactly what you want.
image: Yena Kim
