It's Not That I'm Angry

by Topaz Winters



it’s just that there are men at my door & you 
put them there. In the kitchen I am

cooking dinner like my mother taught me
so that when the men finally break down 

the door we can all sit down for a nice 
hot meal together before they take 

me away. I’m sure the neighbours 
imagine all the pounding is just construction 

on the building down the block—
how easily fear song passes for the rhythm 

of creation. The men don’t think of themselves 
as soldiers the same way I don’t think 

of the open flame on my stove as 
a coping mechanism. If you could cook 

your own last supper, would you? 
Meaning: the opposite of escape 

is hospitality, & if this is all a dream 
I hope I didn’t leave the stove on when I ran. 

If it’s real, at least the newspapers will know 
I was dragged off like a lady. I’ve paid 

full price for whatever love I thought 
wouldn’t hear the pounding & look away. 

There are men at my door. 
I’m out of salt for their meal. The hinges 

on the doorframe are starting to yield. 
& you want my forgiveness.


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