Stay

I love
like the beaten dog,
wounded and whimpering,
wide-eyed and wondering,
remembering what it felt like—
his kindness and warmth;
his sweet, eager greetings.
Then he strikes again
with words against my jowl or
buries his tongue-boot in my stomach
with a deep thump.
“You stupid fucking bitch,”
and I think of
curling up at his feet at night
and licking his palms in adoration.

I love
him so much
I no longer love myself.
I am lost in the sea of women
who are prettier than me;
drowning in the tide of their bodies,
bitten by their teeth as they
smile at him and he smiles
lustfully, thinking of fucking them.
I am home alone,
tied to a bitter tree out back
where the grass barely grows,
dreaming of love.

There’s a board missing
in the whitewashed fence
he hasn’t bothered to repair.
Why don’t I run away?
While he is gone all day
doing what he does
with all the other bitches
who aren’t stupid like me,
those fresh litters of puppies
that draw his attention away—
why don’t I tug a little?
Why don’t I gnaw at the braided rope
that binds me to him
and break free?

Because I am his
and he is mine,
and anyway,
there is nowhere to go.
If I slipped through the opening
and cautiously trotted the block,
if I dared to sniff here or there,
nothing would be familiar.
I would simply be lost
and there would be no signs of me
stapled to the telephone poles.
If I did meet another man,
I would only be able to cower.
And who would take home
such a wretched thing?
Or perhaps he’d take me home
to see my tricks
for a day,
but just a day.

So I sit,
and I stay,
and I love
like the beaten dog.