We Say Terrible Things and Finally See Each Other
A word like confession is too easy
and redolent of excuse-making.
Confessions incubate
by some mysterious internal clock
until they spring open
transformed and demanding applause.
I love the idea of who I am with you. Decay
is a competition I am counting on you
to win. I use honesty as a weapon.
To learn the futility of words,
aim them at that which you would
destroy. Plumb your depths
for the very keenest arrows and
fling them only to watch them
halt and flutter back at you,
paper feathers cut with dull scissors
piled at your feet.
I offered you a knife handle-first and
you left me standing with it. There is no
talking to you. I might as well talk
to the birds. I might as well talk to you.
I’ve grown numb with seeing.
I would drape you in red
then whisk the cloth away to reveal
a skeleton with a blackbird poised
behind the ribcage, impenetrably
dark except for one eye glittering
in defiance.
A blackbird without plumage is only a bird.
Shut up.
You would strip the husk off me
expose quivering sinew to hot air
the pulse points in my veins
where blood puts one foot in front
of the other, charting an endless loop.
There is no harm in finishing
the job for you. I might as well
slough off the last of me, throw
my best weapons until my arms
tremble with their own weakness.
I might as well talk to you.
Dan Wiencek is a poet, critic and humorist who lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and whose work has appeared in Sou’wester, New Ohio Review, Timberline Review, Carve and other publications. His first collection of poems, Routes Between Raindrops, was published by First Matter Press in 2021.