in the thick of a row i tell my beloved
i would like to kick his head off.
i imagine my fury as if its mythology.
allow myself ugly. i thrill in the mud.
a friend suggests poison. to burn out the anger.
but the internet says i am right. everything
breaks at once. the fireplace. the latch
on the south-facing window. a weight
i'd assumed i'd always carry. the light
streams in. i know what i've done.
Kristin Lueke is a Virgo, chingona, and author of the chapbook (in)different math, published by Dancing Girl Press. Her work has appeared in HAD, Anti-Heroin Chic, Kissing Dynamite, Hooligan, the Acentos Review, a bunch of zines, and one time as part of an interactive cosmic cowboy baptism at Chicago's iO Theater (RIP). Once, she was nominated for a Pushcart Prize for a poem about revenge. It didn't win. She lives in northern New Mexico.