Practicing for the Police Test
Alone at night in bed,
she hugs her own back, shrunk
into rippled strength.†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† research gone mad, her husband says
She runs a hand over her leg:
itís like someone elseís,
the way muscle stretches hard
She is hard, in this embodiment,†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† swaggers when she walks, will not ask for kisses
the way she stares without blinking
down the barrel
of her husbandís disapproval
when he is home (seldom).
She sits on the green sofa,
he on the beige. Raised newspaper
the two of them.
She wants to say, ††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† & does not
of me. Her eyes tear.†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† at night, a white bird sits on her chest & mourns
The gap between them whistles†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††
with the dark of what her husband aims
and aims. †††††† †††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††
ZoŽ Landale teaches creative writing at Kwantlen University College in Richmond, BC. She is the author of five books. The Rain is Full of Ghosts, a novel, and Blue in this Country, poetry, are her most recent books.