This poem has been the planned opening to my untitled series on love, sex and relationships from the start, but as things have developed, I’ve adopted a specific cadence in many of the poems that this one doesn’t have. As a matter of personal preference, I like poems that shake things up in a series. Using the same cadence for every last one would get boring to me. I want to break things up. My critiquing buddy of 10+ years disagrees. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
All of You
There’s room enough inside this tin heart. ‘Cold,’ you might complain. ‘Cramped with too many ghosts. Don’t you ever clean?’ I went in with a broom once, made swirls in the dust honoring aesthetic over godliness. Found an old guitar, cat gut hanging. A teddy half chewed. The stiletto heel I thought never stuck—but I remember the leg that grew up from it like a tree trunk. Kick nothing to the curb. Especially not the gun.
by Michelle Beltano Curtis
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