Her Chorus

My old regret’ll crawl forward
[with each stir of my night] &
a slip in my bath & then crack
of my skull will let them seep

& I will loosen my summoned
venom/ You will not slay your
enemy by pouring out poison
or laying in a stone-slick knife

under his ribs – old solutions –
your tongue will do him as he
walks alone – repeat each lie –
those echoes mark your brow

[as if concern ever crossed it]
& your chorus – a sisterhood –
will claim your righteousness
& praise your dissembled lips