Always Messing with them Boys
Jessica Helen Lopez          

Ordinary Woman, the Jilted Soapbox or a List of Sorts

I who have left behind
trumpeting earrings, stashes of
tampons and empty bottle cap eyes,
scratched glasses and such
upon your night table,
lipstick in the shade of me and
my type of poetry all over your sheets.

All that I have left
behind I still carry
like a crooked spine, bruised
bag lady blues,
a spinster,

with all that nonsense
you squeezed from me
in those on]the]fly
late]night sessions,

the ones I first rejected
until I became accustomed
to speaking in your language

What now shall
I do with all these
ink blots and black ants?

You will clean your
man]house and soap
the dishes, the water will
glisten to the tops of
your forearms,

those hands that
made me feel so safe

You will unclog my
hair from your shower
and all the breath of me
will leave the room in
one long exhalation

the vanity mirror will have no
recollection that I was there

I, who have left behind a rainforest
of tears in your house, warmed
myself against your bonfires

let my little daughter
idle in the loft
for just a chance
that she should practice
with me
the embrace
I always
wanted her
to give you

Left behind,
my fleet of coffee mugs,
my faux]fur knee-high boots,
assorted panties and a silver
necklace that dangles from
the medicine cabinet

No books Ifm sure,
I always read yours

There are last summerfs
popsicles in your freezer
that you should throw out

Here is what
I have done
with your instructions,
rebellious to the bitter end.
You sent me away and
told me to draft a list
of my needs but all
I could think up
was this

a poem

how very