APOTROPAEI

         ancient Greek deities believed to avert disaster

I have decided that you look like me. 

In the smoke of calamity, I want to turn to myself, 

who is reasonable, who will sympathize, who knows

that as I fall asleep, I picture my house on fire. 

I imagine how I would escape from every room. 

I imagine not escaping. I imagine my children not escaping. 

I can see the smoke, can close up my throat on command, 

can sweat so much my sheets would be the last thing to burn. 

You are powerless to turn away a fire or a cancer or a kidnapper 

or a knife. But I want you to have my face so that when I say

there are circumstances under which I would end myself, 

you will understand. You will not stop me from running 

my hands over their cool shapes to make sure they are still there, 

to make sure this too is a room I could escape.

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Claire Wahmanholm is the author of Night Vision (New Michigan Press, 2017), Wilder (Milkweed Editions, 2018) and Redmouth (Tinderbox Editions, 2019). Her poems have most recently appeared in, or are forthcoming from, New Poetry from the Midwest 2019, Copper Nickel, Image Journal, Beloit Poetry Journal, Grist, RHINO, PANK, Bennington Review, DIAGRAM. She lives and teaches in the Twin Cities. Find her online at clairewahmanholm.com