Sonnets in Astana 4

—in mid-step, in the yellow suspended capillaries, I
Freeze; the guests have come unbidden; retreat, retreat!
I trust my husband not to dash my son’s brains out, I
Trust the engineer was sober; trust the bombs sleep.

I check the locks, I check the locks, I check the locks.
I trust my body, I trust my hands. Women have committed
Murder in their sleep. I dream of violins and clocks;
Is there a spot on the hinge where my liver is fitted

To my soul? Death can be asymptomatic. Halt, halt!
I trust the crack in my kitchen floor was planned; water
Will not kill my mother when she drinks; the salt
Has not been poisoned by the orphaned daughter

Of a sociopathic crackhead; I trust I will not be next—
I do, I do, I do — what, Ma? — yes, trust God, but check, check.



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