by Megan Merchant
#MeToo
I�ll take the noise of you and leave a salt streak
across the sheets. I�ll let you caw behind my knees
and cumulonimbus well ahead of the squall line,
your trailer wobbling in the wet-wind.
After, when you blow smoke in my hair,
I�ll catch a puff on my tongue. Swallow.
You�ll call me home, tar feathering my teeth.
Let�s pretend you don�t know my secret�
how everyone said,
he�ll be the end of you,
forecasting me dark, which I thought was ok
because I never knew where I began.
Maybe somewhere purple in these
bruised constellations.
Even if I float thin, you�ll find your
way home. You�ll knock, but only after
you shred the door.
Megan Merchant lives in the tall pines of Prescott, AZ. She is the author of two full-length poetry collections: Gravel Ghosts (Glass Lyre Press, 2016 Best Book Award), The Dark�s Humming (2015 Lyrebird Prize, Glass Lyre Press, 2017), four chapbooks, and a forthcoming children�s book with Philomel Books. She was awarded the 2016-2017 COG Literary Award, judged by Juan Felipe Herrera, the Poet Laureate of the United States.