Last Word

Rose petals and

plastic hangers on the floor.

Slam your fist into the wall.

Hold me up against the plaster,

like kissing my cheeks is

some kind of olive branch.

Two weeks of doing

the right thing is not

the end of a pencil.

I can't erase afraid.

I am loose leaf now,

unbound from any book.

I am moving out

of this apartment,

of this life,

of these bounds.

You can take the dog,

but my heart is still

hidden in my rib cage.

I get the last word.