from To a cruel lover who read about me in the paper
. . . It is sad how
the longing for someone as cruel
kept going, as if,
when I swallowed that dead cat,
my heart, the cruelness would go away,
like a prizefighter who holds the devil
close to his chest, a hug
so that he can’t strike. It’s a sad weapon.
. . .— Toi Derricotte, published in American Poetry Review, January/February 2004
