1818 c/o Amy Blakemore

there is nothing dramatic about this self-imposed EXILE. it is the only rational solution
to inheritance & annexation & the clashing labours of the chain gang.

i left the comfort of my quilt and the cool, disarmed lakes for fear of what was held in the locked rosewood writing desk - and women, all the women.

i read that it might now be possible for my body to hold your blood, your blood in my body -
and wonder how it feels to pummel the life from a man with padded gloves,
to feel another’s warmth seep into me, like the light of Our Lord, so redly.