From Kendrick to Madonna to T. Rex to First Aid Kit,
she is all over the place, musically speaking.
Is there a collection of Sylvia Plath poems
that is NOT edited by Ted Hughes, she asks.
I don't know what to do with her,
and she doesn't know what she wants with me.
Down under the Manhattan Bridge overpass,
she breaks my heart with a kiss.
In the stained glass service of ourselves,
we are on a carousel of caring and trying not to care.
A villanelle for my future memories but unlike the women before her,
she assures me we will meet again on a snow-covered beach.