TRINA STOLEC
Relief

You are an exceptional teacher, my love,
and I am your star pupil.
Just look at my eyes --
emerald depths you used to admire
now filled with mud   crystallized --
   the ice where we slip and slide.
My voice bends in barbs;
words harden
to a six ton steel beam aimed at your heart....
the same way your words used to aim at me.

What devil possesses me
   to offer a laugh,
      a kiss,
      a fuck
   to make you believe
   words are lies?
      Evil bitch.

I don't like this creation of yours very much:
infection festering beneath the surface,
   breaks through to ooze poison on everyone I touch.

Relief is a puff of breath on a December morning;
there -- right in front of me,
   taunts me,
   but won't let me grab hold.
Laughs as it disappears in the distance.
   It knows I want to follow,

but the chains....
I helped you make these chains,
solder them to my flesh,
free to run till I hit the end of the leash --
  with strangulation force these days.
Relief moves on without me
  once too often.

So I make you the rope
   in the tug-of-war between me and relief,
your hemp flesh crystallizes in December air.
   You grab for the door
      but I keep the knob an inch beyond your reach...
I've grown used to the cold,
and tug-of-war has become
   my favorite game.
I can wait...

There is a kind of relief in making a decision,
even when
   it's frozen solid.