by R. Margaret Baird

I was lying on the floor of that soft room (with its very hard and deadly floor). You were seeking solace between the thighs of another. I threw away all the gifts you gave me. Threw them all in the Missouri River; and paused to think if I should follow. I walked among women with downcast eyes- Skeletons in grey rags- and believed I was one too because you told me I was that... and less Because I couldn't take a joke. Because you smiled when I failed. Because you used my body as a toilet. Because I was not stupid or naiive. Because I believed your words or love. Now I sleep on a gilded bed and you now sleep on nails.

R. Margaret Baird also wrote Passion Fruit in the January, 1997 issue of Grrowl!