Ethel

Street Address

City, State, Zip

Phone Number

from The Moment of Greatest Alienation

Metaphor is the Momentum Between Gestures

& I am Coptic,

you are Christ, my heart a slit lamb, punctured,
slick at the throat. The alchemist’s optic

obsession: stuff to gold & never back.
Even the vein, sexual, royal purple,

royal, textual: as lunar black
sometimes, on paper, becomes inevitably

smoke white. All the swollen signs of night:
from the full satellite, the early year moons —wolf, snow— to

the slow diastole of chest, the right-
hand turn before your house, &, of course, you.

What to do about you? Perhaps a Taj,
wrench an adagio from my rib,

or maybe it’s enough to adjust
the pillow under your head. I can give

you my word: in some future I will shake
your husband’s hand, hold your face

& say, “It’s wonderful to see you
again.” We will both turn away in shock,

proud we pulled it off, proud of our disgrace.
We will smile. There will be nothing left

to do except go home
& make love in separate beds.

There will be nothing left but to accept
a world without regard for what is said.

It is the momentum between gestures — & I am
Emmanuel & you are the sepulcher.

*Originally appeared in FERAL