These dragons are Ebony with her hoard of bags and below the line, her fierce fly killing stance, Xander (a baby) showing off his teeth, and Evie showing her fierce teeth, wings, and fire yawn.

Linnea Sterte

while walking the dog              Paris won’t even notice.              I’ll feed the pup, pack a quick bag,              take out the trash, and slip away into the night.              Home to Sparta. Or Santa Monica.              An island off the southernmost tip of Peru.              Disappear. Like fog from a mirror.

while paying the bills              Guess I’ll have to give up that whole new career plan.              Academic dreams. House-and-yard dreams.              Stay on like this a few more years. Or forever.              Face the bottomless nights in solitude.              Wither. Drink. Write poems about dead ends.              Drink more. Work. Pay rent.              End.

when Paris comes home drunk              Call Clytemnestra. Make a plan.              Move a few things into Clym’s spare room,              storage for the rest. Set up arbitration.              File what needs to be filed.              Head to Athens. Or back to Crown Heights.              Maybe find a roommate in Fort Greene.              All I know is out out out.              Sure, I can blame the past or the scotch              or my own smartmouth or my worst rage,              but blame is a word. I need a weapon.

when Menelaus writes a letter              As if.