Her mother described her thus:
“She loved to lick danger off the spoon.”
On hot nights that took forever to arrive
She would stand before nature as it stood before her,
Which tends to attract the howling.
And she dated a lot of dogs in her time.
Mean dogs, angry dogs
Angrier that the one drawn by David Lynch.
Dogs that sucked the blood from her
And no wherewithal for a transfusion.
Her heart was filled with poison:
That was her secret.
She left us that day with rings around her fingers
Put there by lovers dead on arrival.
She belonged to no one finally
And to nothing at last.