Lani Scozzari

How will I learn to love
your father? His hand split
your mother’s cheek in jealous fury, possession:
hard-sack thud of fist on face—  

Black-crack want gone mad.  

At five in Jc Penney he dressed you:
new-black slacks, white-blue striped button-down—
We’re leaving. He said.
What about paying? You said.
We’re not paying. He said.


His eyes licked my breast when I met him,
tongue rolling over itself,
slippery and marbled: What do you weigh, little thing— 

Please do not let him touch. 

Don’t you believe in guns
His finger blister-pointed in my face:
You’re running, a man throws you, pins you,
rapes you, a man raping you— raping you, raping you—
and you don’t wish

for a gun?

What I wish—

He snaps: a belt across the back:  All women fuck you
in the end.  

Gold-clank of chain. Eyes slick
as oil, I am afraid
of myself.