TWO POEMS
Luxury Tax
A fig in your drawer. A descant, a signet ring. Your indexfinger once you’ve chipped all the polish. Yes, you say,a pair of them in with the silk and the lace. A Windsorone-handed. The piece you bought for your husband. The platein your wrist, how it’s thicker in the morning. Cheesecake.Pannacotta. The poet fled to Montana, nursing the goutin his leg. Flowers for your table. The granite has thicker veiningthan the marble, of course. Her name like forty flounceson a dress. Jacquard. Knifepleats. We thought you’d goneto Florence for the summer. A house exchange? A smallerdog. The outlet sells different goods than the flagship. A cordsnaking away from it. The hours you supplicatein your green dress, in your girdle. Sat on your heels,your lips a bow, and what you say—like needles fromyour dowry, pulling, pulling, to make a whole, or cut one.Would you allow me to make you an accounting? The marksyour necklace left. The twin beds together to make a king.
