To My Daughter
Maybe this is wrong, but I want you on fire.
Bang. Boom. Debris. I want to throw you
like a bomb and turn around, my back
walking away. If life could just give me
one satisfaction then you’ll collapse all
the gawking stars, the stalking moon, these
predictable nights of domestic abuse. You
will break the dark like windows. If that’s not
enough, if annihilation is too blunt, you’ll be
the math of extinction, the inviolable logic,
the sanity, of polynomials. It’s not that I don’t
love my baby, you understand. I quit smoking
as soon as I found out and I’ll leave my husband
if he so much as looks at you. I’ll use you to get away.
Kelly Dolejsi is a climbing instructor with an MFA from Emerson College. Her work has been published most recently in Timberline Review, North American Review, Fifth Wednesday, Denver Quarterly, West Texas Literary Review, Allegro, Fiolet and Wing, Vine Leaves Literary Review, Up the Staircase Quarterly, and 1001. She also has poems forthcoming in The Hungry Chimera.