POETRY April 4, 2025

I Will Live a Thousand Years but Only with You

and if you want Lascaux vandalized,

              oh, I’ll do it.

Let an antlered thing flush

at the sight of us. Let a herd of them

stare a little longer. A mouth is a tool.

It’s a magnet. It’s a garden. Now

Montignac wants our heads on spikes.

                      I’ll go down for it if you follow me.

We’ll submit to the court our notes towards

a perfect cosmology, a map of would that I’s

and yes I would’s. The way that mammals

make their own graves, all the time, and never stop

                                 keeping room for another.

Do me a favor and build me an empire. Call it

a delicate thing. Daylight covers fungi, lichen, rot

of the Magdalenian. But in this room, it’s fox skins

and socks, frayed away, already gone. Never mind.

Do you want to rob the Guggenheim with me?

                                           If we get caught, we go down together.

I would call that an empire, too, a gruesome

endeavor. Call me a gruesome endeavor. Call me

whatever you like, you tyrant, you trouble me.

Let me pick the berries off the branch today,

to be the one to feed you. I want to see your face, stained,

                                                         with juice, with cave paintings.

Jane Feinsod is a poet and educator living in Philadelphia. She received her MFA from UMass Amherst, where she was named a Rose Fellow. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Redivider, Sonora Review, The Arkansas International, and elsewhere.
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