For The Liar Who Broke My Daughter’s Heart

May we meet one night in Fresno,
at the party of a friend who does not know.

May we find each other by pure chance
in a corner of the yard,
as you stand guarding the keg,
your tan smile lifting the leaves like wind,

and may I look into your eyes and smile,
and shake your hand,
gripping your palm in both of mine

and squeezing it until the first bone breaks

(and we both know we both know).

May I hold your hand until every
small bone snaps like kindling,
and the warm flesh gives way,

until your blood seeps between my fingers
and spatters the summer ground,
until your smile disappears
as your mouth is erased.

May I hold it until your knuckles grind
in my palm like soft stones,
and your blonde Southern wife,
noticing your lipless face,
the stump of your hand,
looks at me that night across the yard
with the most gracious of smiles.