To Nicholas

To Nicholas

I want to rip the stars
From the sky
As easy as buttons on a sweater
if only my limbs had the muscle
They're so much more permanent
Than I will ever be

My dna now floats
In the blood of another
I try not to make him my salvation
But he is always the one reason
I won't

He dulls the blades
And melts the pills
All with a coo and a smile
Rubbery gums about to break
He rumbles around
First inside me
Now around me
Kneeling at my feet
Grabbing my skirt
Eyes deep brown
Like coffee beans
Scanning the beige carpet
For anything he can reach
With his new-found grasp

He needs me
I tell myself always
In the AM hours
When I dump my pills out on the glass table
Hear them Tapping like hail
Tiny white disks in my palm
The closest I will ever get
To holding a star

He needs me
So I take just enough
To bring on the black
But still stay warm
So I can rise for his cries
Stumble to him
Hold him next to my dewy skin
My heart drumming against my ribs
To think
I Made him
To unmake me

The woman who awed
At the sight of her own blood
Who took apart leg razors
When she couldn't find anything else
sharp enough
When walls got too boring
Too close
To her


I made him
To unmake me
Like I selected all my best genes
Knitted them together
Hoping for no pulls
No dropped stitches
Just a better version
Who would see more days
And more rewards
Than I ever could

What I do for him
Is the best I can possibly do
For me
Because our lives fit
Inside one another
Like a key in a lock
Hoping for beautiful things
On the other side of the door
Both of us curl together
I shield him
With my skin
Scarred as it is
It's still in one piece
And he doesn't even realize
He's the reason why

--jenna r mckean randall winter, 2005

Live and Die

Live and Die

"But suicides have a special language.
Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build." –A.S.

You—
Sexy Sadie—
the seducer seduced
by the fumes of your Cougar.
With a cigarette, vodka—
your mother's fur—
you had to be a glamour girl
even while the cold crept up your limbs.

And now your frozen eyes
haunt me from your book cover—
your image awash
in watery blue.
Cradling your skinny knees—
looking up—breakable—
like you've been caught crying,
you provide such a dangerous model.

so I crack the book open—

My fingers are pricked
by your poems—
blood mixes with ink.
The words refuse
to stay on the page.
They catch on my sleeve.
They stain me.
They dare me.
They follow me to bed
and call me out of sleep—
and I swear I see the corners
of your cardboard mouth
creep up into a smirk.

Is this what you wanted?
Dead but never gone—
to show your fellow suicides
the way out of generations
and even the grave?
To be reincarnated
over and over again
in the minds of people
who see their insanity
inside the jackets of your books?

I hear the pattern of your breath
in the rhythms of your lines—
I can see you—
terrified and fighting—
trapped inside the madness
you trapped inside words
and now those words live for you
to breathe that madness
into ears searching
for just such a sound—
a clang of frightful recognition
that makes our stories merge.


--jenna r. mckean january, 2000

Vice

Vice

I imbibe you.
Your sherry
bright and sharp
on my tongue,
warm as it trickles
through my veins.
Against the night
I glow,
melody curls
from my lips
like smoke
sweet like maple brown
my words drop
into your hungry mouth.

I am dyed
for you—
greased, powdered and perfumed—
red and black
on china white
like war paint,
the lines drawn
so carefully
outlining my intentions.
We are mutual pawns
and I grin
deliciously
as you fold yourself
into the palm
of my hand,
your eyes shining
with victory.

Licking my fingers,
I taste our addictions
as we peel
back the cloth
so ready
to lose ourselves
in the skin
of the other.


--jenna r. mckean 0ctober, 2001