I will take this shape

This morning, after falling back
asleep in the heat of my New Orleans
white sheets, I dreamt I killed a woman.

I dreamt I killed a woman.

And then, went home to feed the cats.
When I arrived home, there were
no bowls and the cats became angry.
I had all the food, but no way to serve them.

In my dream, the woman was bad.
A blonde siren song, ancient and demonic,
who held others captive. Kept them in a cave
with no light; no way to find one another.

I don’t know how I came to be the savior.
It might seem macabre, and perhaps
it is the southern wet air, but I grabbed
the woman by the back of her shirt with one fist
and slung her repeatedly to the ground like
an old ragtime VooDoo doll. All of her
colliding with concrete, flattening.

When she climbed naked out of her clothes
like a hot lizard to come back for me,
I violently stood with my black boot
on her neck until her mouth filled with
blood and saliva and her
eyes turned to black coins.

When I released her, ravenous crows
descended on her body until she was nothing
but a black cloud of grounded feathers.
I looked up from her bones, saw my daughter,
and was proud.

I took the shape of a violent thing
that I can’t shake.

And the cats still went hungry.