Burning Her Past

He would have her. But she had herself,

In part, locked in a chest of drawers. The key

Was on a ring hung from a kitchen shelf

In plain sight, so could not with secrecy

Be hidden away, or lost. And so she knew

When he possessed it, when his hands attacked

The boxes with the photographs, and threw

The letters to the floor, and then ransacked

The farthest corners; when he made the fire

And sent the life she had before they met

Violently into it-as if desire

For him would let her willingly forget

All that was not himself, simply because

No trace remained of anything she was.