Jessie Janeshek

Love Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry

I bled from my breasts for a month
attended my wake incognito
on the arm of a Cincinnati mob-boss.

How blonde Tony's date is!

      Would she like a slice of stewed melon?

Cradling the jackpot chunk
envisioning my body
spread on checkered cloth

instead of green olives
I spat seeds in the small well
of my cream Chinette plate

let the pink meat
decompose in my throat
sat at the piano sure they'd bust me.

No other woman plays Clair de Lune
like the Charleston.
Rossini for Tony
Linus and Lucy
a little out of tune . . .

Some dimwit dug out
      the pimientos!


Chanel heels sunk in mud.
I shrunk while I smooched him goodbye.

He disappeared with his chauffer.
I went to the river, whipping my wig off.


My lungs cleared in July
month made for uprooting lovers
crabs, rubies, and gold
waxing crescent, last of midnight

black kidskin shoes
in a T-shape.

Lay snails on a dish.
Will they trace his initials
in raspberry gunk?

Month of laburnium…wait!
They write Quebec City.


My Montreal cabbie
wears a bone through his nose.
His seats smell like Allspice and newsink.
Purple dusk ruts for light

goes to bed hungry.
Eat a jar of Nutella.
Skip the obituaries.


Sun's melting crystal.
I walk past a chapel
look for a bird
even brown rabbits
Mary's face smoothed
with cold Oil of Olay.

Did she shake her head no?

My hand's turning blue.
I'd have come sooner
had I the money. Yes I'd have stood
the mosquitoes, I love you!

Old woman walks past
dragging her market cart
canned milk, frozen lemons
      gasps at the day moon
      moan of the clock bells
            asks     deja midi?

e-mail the poet at
to go back to the home page