we leap at the chance to be blistered

At last, I have found my assassin. At last, 

I have struck gold. When my past hissed 

with cobras, you let me sleep. When 

I was falling, you brought the ground closer 

and made gravity of flowers like a kiss. 

 

One body moving is a seduction. One body 

is a practiced leap and a parachute 

unsprung. Only the scalpel knows the passion 

of blood. We soothe it with cold and sing it 

to sleep. We leap at the chance to be blistered. 

 

We listen and stiffen. We pivot and reap. 

My rib cage could be a wasp nest built 

of paper. My hand could be the slip of sand 

across itself to slake the great unknown. 

Snow coughs along the windows now 

and listens differently to the pure. Snow 

brocades like cotton. Prayers, like burdens, go. 

 

[Jennifer Militello {1972- } 'The Punishment of One Is the Love Song of Another', from The Best American Poetry 2020]