I could freeze her name in an ice cube
And drop it bleeding into the snow bank,
Or send it rolling down the hill
Into the river, away from here,
Into the bay and the deep chill
Of the ocean. Or I could hide it
In the basement or the attic, where
No one would look. Or I could write it
In a poem, in plain view for all
To see, for her to see, knowing
How much she hates the way I call
It out. For there comes a time
When I don’t care what she thinks.
It’s her name but my life. If it rhymes
It rhymes. It’s only a game.