Becoming a Nun - Vanessa Daou

On cold days

It is easy to be reasonable

To button the mouth against kisses

Dust the breasts

With talcum powder

& forget

The red pulp meat

Of the heart

On those days

It beats

Like a digital clock-

Not a beat at all

But a steady whirring

Chilly as green neon

Luminous as numerals in the dark

Cool as electricity

& I think:

I can live without it all-

Love with its blood pump

Sex with its messy hungers

Men with their peacock strutting

Their silly sexual baggage

Their wet tongues in my ear

& their words like little sugar suckers

With sour centers

On such days

I am zipped in my body suit

I am wearing seven league red suede boots

I am marching over the cobblestones

As if they were the heads of men

& I am happy

As a seven-year-old virgin

Holding Daddy’s hand

Don’t touch

Don’t try to tempt me with your ripe persimmons

Don’t threaten me with your volcano

The sky is clearer when I’m not in heat

& the poems

Are colder