Is to first lay her
down on canvas.
Trace her contours
and where
her emptiness lives
stuff words.
The one I write
doesn't like silence
the way man does.
She moans and screams
and whimpers with
every letter
scratched into her skin.
She isn't stealth inclined
the way man is
who solves the hunt
with an arrow
or an altercation
with a sword since
dudes don't listen
with their heart.
If Pablo had a chance
I wonder
would he have painted
his
many
women
with
an
ax.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem