After That
Every story has its lean meat
and its solid church
so he started to rape her for years.
However, owls close their eyes
in the daytime
because they’re awake all night,
and she waited for him
at the handle of his hunting knife
the bells ringing afterward
with the kind of lust
she’s always known.
After that her flights were silent
and her voice, of rats and mice.
I don’t understand sorcery or omens
even eyes as penetrating as hers,
but under her feathers
and all along the tips of her flight
where she’s let me touch her,
I’ve kissed her fright.
Copyright Credit: Primus St. John, “After That” from Communion: Poems 1976-1998. Copyright © 1999 by Primus St. John. Reprinted with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townshend, WA 98368-0271, coppercanyonpress.org.
Source: Communion: Poems 1976-1998 (Copper Canyon Press, 1999)