Michelle Bonczek


The world is a book

 and that book is glass
 and the men who made the book                                                                                                                             are glass, and the men who wrote

 the book are glass
 and the men that read the book are glass                                                                                                               and their eyes are glass

 the whole world is a glass book                                                                                                                                 its pages blown
 to thin leaves with fire and breath

 leaves that burn themselves into shapes                                                                                                               that the book makers lean into
 with their metal fingers, and turn


 Sarah is slaving over her sewing machine, transforming                                                                                     her lingerie into sexy tablecloths and napkins.

 They ate chocolate chip pancakes on Sunday mornings                                                                                         —she will never eat chocolate again.

 All those cancelled cups of Guatemalan—she will never                                                                                   drink coffee again. The handcuffs she bought

 him on his birthday, the ones he used
  on that dirty blonde from Brooklyn, now arrests

 will forever remind her of their times together. The blue                                                                           comforter stained with blood—she will never

 bleed again. She will leave the house only in rain.
Wear black on all white occasions.

 We tell her she will find a new love
 when she least expects it. That he will enter from the darkness

 gorging itself on Lake Ontario’s shore, where she will, once again
bathe naked each night in the summer heat, mosquitoes

 sinking their thorns into her, her feet buried                                                                                                           in wet sand. But right now all she believes in

 is the long needle puncturing the difficult thin of black lace,
the water of light blue silk.

Michelle Bonczek Evory is the author of The Art of the Nipple and Naming the Unnamable: An Approach to Poetry for New Generations (forthcoming). Her poetry is featured in the 2013 Best New Poets Anthology and many journals and magazines. She teaches literature in Kalamazoo, Michigan, and mentors poets at The Poet’s Billow (thepoetsbillow.org).