For years I slept with a levee of stones
and the wind turned in my fingers,
knee cracks, the sinking springs
nothing so automated as love.
each time a fresh blade found
itself pressed to my throat
a low hum. No one blamed
the blood or white taffeta.
Wolves indulge in expensive cologne
too, you know. The wooly allure
of being desired, a young divorcee
in a snow bank, snagged.
One bag of letters soaked to pulp,
the books: evidence of your mouth
went to flame. This is a cunt hex:
may she would be reborn
as moss on your headstone,
and may you find a slow collision
or tumor to die inside
CASEY ROCHETEAU was born on Cape Cod, and raised as a sea witch. She was the recipient of the inaugural Write A House permanent residency in Detroit in 2014. She has attended Callaloo Creative Writing Workshop, Cave Canem, and Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference in Sicily. She is an artist in residence at InsideOut Literary Arts in Detroit and an editor at The Offing. Her first book of poetry, Knocked Up On Yes, was released on Sargent Press in 2012. Her second poetry collection, The Dozen, was released on Sibling Rivalry Press in 2016.