In Amy Billone’s The Light Changes: Poems, the poet throws herself in front of a train. And lives to tell the story – not exactly what you expect from poets and poems.
I threw myself before it. I extended my legs, arms.
It came when I called it. Oh what enormous
metal thighs. Oh what fast thudding hips. Again
again against my blackening eyes, skull, chest, waist—
I loved its greasy sighs. I loved its wild blows.
My mind flew away. Who pulled me from below?
Who fed me with a tube? Who brought me
sunflowers? Who hummed me lullabies? Who
pardoned me? Who ripped my shame in two?
To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.
Photograph by Alex Grichenko via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.