Untitled poem

[ezekielsdaughter]

photo by Alan Musselman

Untitled 

Your affection is as constant as the tide
It rushes in, out.
It threatens to pull me under, to tear
me into ribbons on unseen rocks
When I return from the continent's edge
I find a sliver of green
glass in my foot
Fired silicon as fine as a jewelers’ loupe.
The better to see you with, a Mexican grandma whispers
as she displays her wares:
fine Spanish knives,
sweetened pastries to placate the tongue
and release from watery lovers.