Somewhere a crossroads at night,
the devil, that old blues song.
Like every season, I’m best at leaving.
I dowse for water. When I said
You are my everything
I meant else.
Somewhere coffin nails, dirt.
You’ll say I’m being morbid
but that’s the spell.
Like a good storm, a train rumbles
in your bones before. I wish when I’d said
I’ll miss you I’d meant it.
Somewhere, every other woman I’ve been:
the mistress, the arsonist, the water-witch.
I burnt all my bridges without striking match.
I thought you smelled of pine
until I learned gin.
It’s every o’clock somewhere.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 1.
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