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.
Grace
I was raped by a speeding
train. I asked it to.
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.
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